


Red Sam

by Ragman_Jack



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2018-11-15 20:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragman_Jack/pseuds/Ragman_Jack
Summary: The last words of Primus were "Until All Are One" and the the appearance of a Sam from another universe is only the beginning.





	1. Chapter 1

The bright yellow Camaro seemed slightly out of place as it pulled up to the curb. Legs pumping, a young man dressed in jeans and a faded yellow and gray T-shirt leapt out of the driver's seat and bolted into the house, yelling that he would just be a minute. In the car's passenger seat, Mikaela Barnes slouched, a pout creasing her mouth, which somehow only served to make her look cuter.

The radio switched on, playing "Big Girls don't cry" and she glared at the console. Almost contritely, the radio switched over to Marvin Gaye and Mary Wells' "What's the Matter with You Baby". 

"Nothing," Mikaela grumbled and then sighed, "nothing and everything."

The radio changed stations again. "What you talking 'bout Willis?" demanded Gary Coleman's voice followed by the Eurythmic's "Talk to Me".

"It's . . . a human thing. You wouldn't understand."

The radio didn't seemed satisfied and switched again, this time to Pink telling her that she didn't believe her.

Mikaela sighed and rolled down the window, glancing into the mirror as she wondered how to explain that she was feeling possessive of Sam and didn't want him out of her sight, a feeling that despite a string of boyfriends, she'd never had before and she didn't know how to deal with it. 

On the radio, Peter Gabriel urged her to come talk to him, but Mikaela suddenly sat up straighter as something in the mirror caught her eye. Someone was walking along the sidewalk, staring at the houses and cars. Later, she would recall that what caught her eye was the brilliant red of his shirt, and then recognition hit. She pushed open the car door and leapt out, turning to confront the stranger and found herself face to face with Sam Witwicky, her boyfriend, who had just run into the house not a minute ago. Somehow, in the space of that time, he'd changed his shirt, gotten a scar over one eye, picked up a tan, lost at least ten pounds, changed his haircut, and run around the block. He stopped walking, twitching and stared at her blankly

". . . Sam?" she asked and his eyes widened. 

"No . . . nonononononononononononono!" he exclaimed. "Nononononononononono deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead!"

"Sam, what-" she began, but he was already backing away from her in a jerky, leg pumping run that under other circumstances she might have found adorable, but right now, it was just freaky.

"Not here! Not here! Nononononono!" he yelled, and bolted out into the street and took off faster than she'd ever seen him run, and then her mouth fell open as he glowed with some sort of light, and then suddenly, there was a giant red robot in his place which then transformed into a red car (absently, she identified it as a ’70 Dodge Challenger) that took off with a squeal of tires on pavement and the roar of a souped-up hemi engine. With a clatter, Mikaela's phone flew out of the Camaro to land on the grass before the Camaro’s door slammed shut and it took off after the Charger.

The phone beeped with the sound of an incoming text, and by reflex, she glanced at the screen. 

-Verify Sam is in house. Do not let him out of your sight-

Mikaela ran inside and found Sam, just as he had been a minute ago, clattering down the stairs, DVD in hand.

"Found it! It was under my book on--" he broke off as Mikaela grabbed his cheeks, staring into his eyes. "Um . . . Mikaela?" She almost cried. It was him. It was her Sam. 

So who the hell was Bumblebee chasing?

\-------------------

Bumblebee, Autobot Scout, Audiophile, and Guardian to Sam Witwicky, wasn't sure if he could believe his optics, but he wasn't about to let this . . . Red Sam get away. Even as he transmitted a message to Mikaela's phone, he was uploading what he'd just seen to the Autobot's com-net, tagging Optimus Prime and Ratchet in the process as he routed all available power to his drive train for more speed.

"Report, Bumblebee," Optimus Prime responded. Like always, Prime's voice was calm, collected and serene. Bumblebee could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen the Autobot leader lose his temper. Which was to say, once. 

"I am heading Northeast in pursuit," Bumblebee replied, adding his GPS coordinates. His exterior voice box might be on the fritz, but there was nothing wrong with his com link. "I have visual on the entity I've designated 'Red Sam'. Mikaela is verifying Sam's presence within his house."

"Understood," Prime responded. There was a click, a ring, and then Mikaela could be heard.

"Yes, Optimus?"

"Mikaela, have you located Sam?"

"I'm looking right at him," Mikaela replied and Bumblebee could hear Sam asking for an explanation which was abruptly cut off by the sound of Mikaela slapping her hand over his mouth. "Optimus, what is going on?"

"Unknown as yet, Mikaela. Ironhide, Bulkhead, and Arcee are on their way to Sam's house. Ironhide will return you here to Autobot Base while Bulkhead and Arcee maintain watch on Sam's house in case Red Sam eludes pursuit and returns there," Optimus ordered, referring to one of several Autobots who had followed Optimus' message to Earth. "Bumblebee. I have dispatched Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to assist you." A fresh set of GPS coordinates downloaded to Bumblebee's navcomp. "The three of you are to drive Red Sam to these coordinates and I will meet you there. Optimus, out."

\-----------------------

NotrealNotrealNotrealFleerunhideprotect

Protect. 

Iamthelast

Until all were one. 

AlldeadwhyamIthelast

Until all were one.

\-----------------------

Bumblebee was far too much a soldier to question the orders of a superior, especially when that superior was Optimus Prime, the only reason the Autobots were still around. Pit, he could even follow Prime's logic; Sideswipe and Sunstreaker specialized in operating long term behind enemy lines as saboteurs and first strike specialists. They were fast and tough, with the ability to cause damage that only the Wrecker unit could rival. From Bumblebee's point of view, they were also loose cannons, with a blatant disregard for authority. But that may have been what was needed. If cornered, Red Sam was likely to fight and while Bumblebee was no slouch at combat, he was just a scout. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, however, specialized in it. 

That didn't mean he had to like this, however.

He marked his current position, and that of Red Sam, and the coords Optimus had sent him. The twins, assuming they went off road and took the most direct route, would intersect with them near the state border. Optimus needed time to get to his position, so if they could herd Red Sam onto 171 South . . .

\----------------------

Two hours later, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had caught up to them and had Red Sam pinned between them. Anytime he attempted to speed away or slow down, they bumped him, hard, and it took a lot of Bumblebee's self control to remember that this was not Sam, not his Sam anyway, and that his own scans had confirmed that regardless of appearance, the Challenger was in fact made out of Cybertronian alloys, and he was not going to be hurt.

The GPS beeped, Sunstreaker dropped back, and Red Sam took the opportunity, jumping the guardrail and onto the desert sand, tires ballooning up and the body rising up on previously hidden shocks, kicking up sand and rock as the tires found their traction, and then took off like a shot. Bumblebee and the twins could do that as well, and followed without hesitation, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker taking up their former positions, and boxing Red Sam in again once more.

Two minutes later, the form of Optimus rose up on a desert dune and all four cars screeched to a stop, the twins fanning out so that they formed a triangle with Bumblebee at the third corner and Red Sam in the middle. 

Red Sam went to robot Mode and Bumblebee and the twins followed suit.

Prime stepped forward. "I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, and--" he broke off as Red Sam let out a shriek.

"No no no no no no no! Dead! Kept safe! Kept safe!" He dodged to his right and tried to bolt, but Sunstreaker was faster and slammed his fist into Red Sam's face, sending him staggering backwards. "Dead dead dead! All dead! Went squish! Should be dead! Kept safe!" ' With that, Red Sam went into Combat Mode and rushed Sunstreaker, who calmly dodged Red Sam's blaster fire, and not even bothering to extend his own blades, slammed his fist into Red Sam's face plate once more.

Red Sam did have some combat training, but it was covered in panicked, flailing blows, wild and misaimed, which made Bumblebee's coolant pump sink. He'd seen that before in 'bots who had gone beyond their limits and were simply fighting, no thought, no plan and not caring if they lived or died.

Within a minute, it was over as Red Sam crashed to the ground, armor dented in a number of places, and did not get up. "Kept . . . safe . . ." he said, as Optimus approached and stared down at him. 

"And for that, I thank you," Optimus replied, dropping to one knee and placing his hand on Red Sam's shoulder. "You've done well, and now it is time to rest."

"No! Not safe! Not safe! Tried to stop him. I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize," Optimus replied firmly, somehow sounding comforting at the same time, "and by the Matrix of Leadership, I promise you; you are safe."

"Safe?"

"Yes. Safe. I swear upon the Matrix and Primus himself. You are safe."

"Safe." There was a flash of light and then Red Sam was lying on the desert floor, human and unconscious. 

\------------------------------

 

Pain.

Everything hurts. 

A rush of memory. 

Eyes opened and immediately shut again, not only because it felt like one ton weights had been tied to them, but the bright sunlight. Gingerly, because his arms felt like he'd been lifting blocks of concrete, he raised his hand to block the sunlight and tried again. The second time it was easier and he blinked rapidly until his eyes adjusted. 

He was lying on a bed under a soft woolen blanket. The sunlight on his face came from a row of windows overhead and one of them was missing the tinting. Someone had plugged an IV line into his arm and some kind of monitoring device on his finger. Slowly, he sat up, muscles protesting and looked around. He was on some kind of raised platform, metal floor with a steps at one end . . . . and, he realized belatedly, someone had taken his clothes. 

Scrubbing the sides of his face with his hands, he tried to remember how he'd come to be here. He remembered the arrival of the Autobots clearly enough (no way to forget that), and the fighting, and Optimus giving him his final instructions. He remembered weeks of searching and fighting, and then just . . . everything devolved into a kind of blur. Still, he . . . He pressed one hand to his chest. Yes, still there. He could feel it. Next, a look at his hands showed the bio-plastic shell was still active. 

He looked around again, and spied his clothes sitting on the floor next to the platform's railing, from the look of it, someone had washed them. Pushing back the blanket, he started to get up and then froze as he heard Optimus' voice. "How is Red Sam today?"

"Doing well," replied someone else. A human, from the sound of it, "given that he had one of the most severe cases of dehydration combined with exhaustion I've ever seen. I did the hourly check about fifteen minutes ago and Sarah changed the IV Bag. He's unconscious, but vitals are strong."

"But why was he acting like that?" demanded another man's voice and he sucked in breath through clenched teeth. Because the voice was Father’s ’s and that was impossible.

"Shell Shock," came the calm reply of a woman. 

"What?"

"Known now as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is caused by extreme stress due to traumatic situations such as sustained combat operations."

"Yeah yeah," replied his father, "just because I didn't follow Dad into the Navy doesn't mean I don't know the language. What I want to know is how the hell my kid--"

"I'm right here, Dad! Th-tha -that's not me up there!"

Eyes widen in shock. Hearing Father say that he'd never gone into the Navy was weird enough, especially since he vividly remembered Father going on and on about the Witwicky tradition of Naval Service, but to hear him interrupting, that was bizarre. You did not interrupt Father, it just didn't happen.

"Here's what concerns me," came Ratchet's voice, "these energy readings. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I'd scanned an Autobot, if not Optimus himself."

He felt his hands begin to shake as he looked at the IV again. He was fairly sure he was awake, almost positive he wasn't hallucinating, and pretty certain that this wasn't some 'con VR trick, since he'd personally put a dozen ion plasma charges into Soundwave's central processor. Which meant . . . this was real. Somehow, it was impossibly terrifyingly real . . . and he had no idea what to do.

No, he did know what to do. He had to get out of here. This wasn’t . . . it wasn’t home. He didn’t belong here. He sat up again and immediately regretted it as his entire body protested. He wasn't getting shot at, he wasn't hungry or thirsty, wet, dirty, cold, or overheated and quite frankly, his body was perfectly content to stay here for the foreseeable future. A flash of memory; Optimus standing over him, promising him he was safe.

He shook his head. Not safe. Never safe. He ripped out the IV and pulled off the monitoring device before reaching for his clothes and hurriedly pulling on his pants and shirt. He noted absently that he'd been provided with underwear and he tossed it aside. No time for that. The monitoring device likely would have altered whoever had put in the IV, which meant that someone would be coming to check on him. His socks followed the underwear and he he slipped his feet into his shoes as he heard footsteps on the stairs and braced himself for combat only to open his mouth in shock as he saw who was coming up the stairs.

"Mother?"

\-----------------------

Judy Witwicky came down the stairs two hours after she went up. The shoulder of her shirt was wet and her expression was a tired frown. 

"Well?" Ron Witwicky demanded and Judy shot him a look and then sighed. After all, she had volunteered to go up and look in on Red Sam on the theory that he might be better off seeing a more familiar face. 

"Is he okay?" Sarah Lennox asked, handing her a towel.

"I think so," Judy said absently. "Mr. Optimus?"

"Yes, Mrs. Witwicky?"

"What's a Dabbocon?"

"I have no idea," Prime admitted, "why do you ask?"

"He was talking and crying at the same time. He said that word a lot." She frowned at her wet shirt again and then gave up. "He's asleep again. Just like Sam." She ruffled her son's hair. "Every time he's upset, he cries himself out and then falls asleep."

"MOM!" Sam exclaimed horrified.

Judy was unmoved and smiled at Mikaela. "You should remember that, Mikaela dear. When Sam gets overly emotional, just let him cry and have a nap. He'll be fine after that."

Both teenagers blushed and Sarah Lennox laughed. "Mikaela, treasure these little nuggets of information. All Will's mom ever told me about him was his irrational hatred of beets."

"It's not irrational," Will Lennox replied, slouching down on the couch and crossing his arms, "nothing edible should be that shade of purple."

"Eggplant," Mikaela said.

"Plums," added Ironhide.

"Grapes." Sam put in and everyone looked at him. "Well . . . I mean, red grapes are kind of . . . purple . . . sort of." he hunched his shoulders.

"Yeah yeah, a good chuckle," Reginald (never call him "Reggie", which everyone did anyway) Simmons interrupted. "But if we're all done playing Feel Good Moment, I need to debrief that kid." Simmons was a lean older man with the subtlety of a doberman and the stubbornness of a mule. On paper, that made him the perfect person to liaison with giant robots from outer space since there was no way they could run roughshod over him. In person, he came across more like an excitable Chihuahua. 

"You are not debriefing him until he's ready!" Judy snapped.

"Lady, I am not going to--"

"We wait," Lennox cut in. "We've waited three days now, a little longer won't matter and I'd rather debrief someone with their head screwed on straight."

"Statistically, sir, the Major is right," said the huge man at Simmons' elbow. "The more emotionally and mentally stable the young man is, the more productive the interview will be." Special Agent William Fowler was Simmons' partner, and to be honest, his handler, being one of the few people who did not set off Simmons' Bullshit detector.

"Excuse me!" Simmons exploded. "But is Keller breathing down YOUR neck, Lennox? No, he's breathing down mine!" He turned to Optimus. "C'mon, Prime! You want answers as much as anyone else!"

"I do, but I trust Major Lennox's judgement in these matters. Still, Agent Simmons, you are not wholly wrong. Red Sam was running from something or someone. As much as I would prefer to let Red Sam tell his story in his own time, that is not an option."

"Tomorrow, then," Lennox suggested. "That way everyone gets a good night's sleep and then in the morning, Prime and I will debrief the kid."

"No, I debrief him!" Simmons barked. "That's my job, Army boy!" 

"I'm base commander," Lennox replied. "My decision."

"Acting base commander," Simmons shot back.

"Sir," Fowler cut in, "Keller never gave us a time limit, only he was to be notified once Red Sam woke up. Does it matter if he woke up today or tomorrow?"

"It doesn't matter who debriefs him, Red Sam is under the authority of the U.S. Army." Henry Talbot was rail thin, with a head that resembled a hardboiled egg. "And as the senior medical officer, it's my call on the boy's health and my call is that we wait until tomorrow." 

As Simmons and Talbot walked away, Lennox sighed. Simmons was a loose cannon, he didn't entirely trust Talbot, and he had a potential powderkeg in the form of a kid who could change species. Sometimes, command really sucked.

\-------------------------------------------

He awoke in darkness and didn't feel anything. It was like all the grief, anger, and loss had been cried out into mother’s shoulder and now there was just . . . exhaustion. The kind that came from the end of stress, when all of a sudden, there was nothing pulling at you. No demands, just this bone deep tiredness that only rest could counter. 

He couldn't see a clock, but someone had taken away the IV and monitoring equipment, leaving only a dimly lit lamp, just enough to see by and he looked down almost reflexively as his stomach growled. He supposed he should at least thank his hosts and he stood up slowly, muscles protesting. Wincing, he made his way down the stairs and looked around. A vast open space spread around him, the walls climbing high overhead and he dimly made out that they curved inwards. Some sort of dome? No. A hanger.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," said a man's voice and Samuel turned to see that along the back wall of the hanger was some sort of lounge. Three couches surrounded a square coffee table and a refrigerator, sink, and shelves with counter space were against the wall. On the couch in front of the sink was a man, feet up on the table, arms hooked over the back of the couch. "Bet you're hungry," the man said and jerked a thumb at the fridge. "Sandwich stuff there, bread on the shelf." He tilted his head back and studied the ceiling. "I think someone brought Pepsi, but Pettit might have drank it all."

As Samuel made his way to the kitchen, he noticed the large red and blue Peterbilt parked next to the lounge area and wondered if that was Optimus Prime. Which was weird, since the last time he'd seen Optimus, the Autobot leader's vehicle mode had been a fire truck.

There was indeed everything he needed for a sandwich, and suddenly ravenous, he made what Miles had often referred to as the "buddha mix"; or, a Sandwich with everything he could get his hands on. There was not, however, any Pepsi, only a small bit of Orange Soda. Samuel took it anyway and then sat down on the couch facing the Peterbilt.

"Is that . . . . Optimus Prime?" he asked.

The man did not take his eyes from the ceiling. "Yup. But he's never met you before."

"Parallel universe?" 

"Seems that way. Why? What did he look like when you saw him?"

"A fire truck."

The man chuckled. "Parallel universe it is." he raised his head and regarded Samuel. "Major William Lennox, US Army."

"Samuel Witwicky. I guess . . . you have questions."

"Indeed," Optimus said, "and regrettably, Samuel, we cannot wait for you to tell us in your own time. The sooner we know what you know, the better for all concerned."

"Why?" Samuel asked, suddenly tense, "is Galvatron here too?"

"Galvatron?" Lennox repeated, and then looked at Optimus. "'Dabbocon'?" 

"It would seem so," Optimus replied. "Samuel, begin at the beginning and leave nothing out."

\----------------------------

"This is unreal," Sam said. He and Samuel sat on opposite sides of the table, staring at each other.

"Wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," Ron Witwicky stood next to his son, looking from one boy to the other. "Mother of God."

"It's kind of . . . freaky . . . Sarah admitted.

"You are going down, Lennox!" Simmons snapped. "Debriefing the kid was my job, and when I'm done with you, you're gonna be lucky not to get packed off to Alaska!"

"Agent Simmons," we have bigger problems, it seems., than a breach of protocol." If he sat and ducked his head, Optimus could fit inside the hanger . . . just barely. "Major Lennox and I debriefed Samuel most throughly and a recording will be provided to you. But again, we have more pressing problems . . . and great joy."

"You're leaving,” Simmons retorted.

"Shut up, Simmons," Lennox snapped. "You're gonna want to hear this."

"Thank you. Samuel is indeed from a parallel universe. How he arrived in this one remains a mystery, but his curious ability is the result of an accident. As you are all aware, we travel through space by means of what you would call, 'warp jumps'. In Samuel's universe, the Decepticons and the Autobots arrived at Earth's solar system at the same time and a battle ensued. Both sides used short range jumps to gain tactical advantage as they moved through the system, and . . . something went wrong, putting both sides into a state of dimensional phase. The only way they could manifest in a solid form is to find an anchor and form a bionetic bond with it, switching physical forms at need."

"And they chose humans." Lennox said.

"With their permission." Optimus clarified. "At least, among the Autobots. The human identities of the Decepticons were never discovered, but Samuel was the anchor for an Autobot named Cliffjumper, who is no longer with us. However, their link, and Samuel's absorption of Cliffjumper's knowledge, is what has kept him alive for the past year, despite being stalked by Galvatron." He looked at June. "That, Mrs. Witwicky, is what he was attempting to tell you yesterday. Not 'Dabbocon', but 'Galvatron'."

"I take it Galvatron is bad news," Fowler spoke up.

"Indeed. Megatron suffered from short sightedness due to his overpowering rage and need for violence. Galvatron, though he shared Megatron's thirst, was more subtle about it. He was one of the Senators who served on the Cybertronian council and before that, a Gladiator in the pits of Kaon. His deprivations were discovered only later, after his termination. In this universe."

"But not so in Samuel's," Simmons mused.

"No. Before plunging Cybertron into Civil War, Megatron appeared before the Council to present his case for war against other planets. In this universe, Galvatron condemned Megatron's ambitions, but in Samuel's, he supported . . . and then surpassed Megatron. In Samuel's universe, Megatron never came to Earth and Sector Seven was never formed. Without the study of Megatron, human technology never advanced to the degree it has here, and thus, the Allspark was consigned to sit in a museum. When the Decepticons attacked, humanity's only defense was the Autobots, and because they had no wish to risk harm to the Decepticon anchors, were constrained to avoid lethal measures, a decision Galvatron exploited and decimated the Autobot ranks. Eventually, only Samuel and my counterpart were left. Galvatron had exterminated humanity."

A quiet shudder passed through the room.

"Yeah, I think its time for that great joy you mentioned," Simmons said.

"Before Samuel and my counterpart parted ways, a choice was made. That Optimus moved to confront Galvatron for the final time, but not before entrusting Samuel with his Matrix of leadership, which contained a copy of his memory files in their entirety. . . and this." Prime held up a small cube of bronze metal.

"Primus!" Ironhide gasped. "Prime, is that . . .?"

"A piece of that universe's Allspark, yes. In time, it will regenerate into a full Allspark and we will be able to renew our race, but that is for the future."

"Wait a minute," Mikaela was frowning. "If other Sam was carrying a Matrix, doesn't that make him Prime? I mean, that's how it works, right?"

"I wasn't worthy," Samuel said, resting his elbows on his knees. "It stayed with me because of the Allspark fragment, but it wouldn't let me in, even to share anything that might help me survive."

"So where is it now?" Simmons asked.

"Within me," Optimus said, “even now, it and mine are 'comparing notes'."

"Hooray," Simmons groaned. "So this Galvatron is here?"

"We do not know for sure but whatever force brought Samuel here, may have brought him as well. It would behoove humanity, Agent Simmons, to keep a watchful eye out. If Galvatron is here and chooses to attack, he will choose his target with care, and strike with maximum force."

"In other words, the only warning we'll get is everything exploding. Great." Muttering to himself, Simmons stalked off.

"Until we know otherwise, we have to assume Galvatron did cross over," Lennox said, addressing the room at large again. "That means finding him, neutralizing him, and burying him in the deepest, darkest hole we can find."

"But how do we do that?" Sam asked. "I mean, he'll look human. Like, human, human. Like he looks like me!" he pointed at Samuel.

"Samuel emits a unique bioenergy signal, not trackable without specialized equipment," Ratchet explained. "Like us, the Autobots of Samuel's universe relied on adapting human technology to meet their needs. But because there was no Megatron, they did not have the level of technology that we do here."

"So," Lennox added, "we build the scanners we need, and start looking. If nothing else, we should be able to narrow down his geographical location to something manageable."

"And then we go in, find him, and beat him into small metal splinters," Sideswipe finished, slamming a fist into his open palm.

"Indeed," Optimus agreed. “And as for Galvatron’s human anchor, if a reasonable opportunity to separate them presents itself, we must take it, but it cannot be our priority.”

Mikaela turned to Sam and they exchanged a silent conversation and then she shrugged. "Nope. Still not sorry I got in the car."


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Since writing the last chapter, I have seen Revenge of the Fallen and Clips from Extinction.  
———————————

“Samuel.”

Samuel opened his eyes at the sound of Optimus’ voice. He was stripped to the waist, lying on a towel on the hanger’s roof, soaking up the sun. “Yes, Optimus?” He sat up.

“You should know that the Matrix contained not only my counterpart’s memories, but also your own.”

Samuel’s face fell. “So you know.”

Optimus nodded. “It is your secret and it would not be right of me to tell anyone without your permission.” It was hard to read Cybertronian expressions and Optimus rarely demonstrated emotion, but Samuel had better experience with them than most and Optimus was mildly annoyed, although not at him. “The Matrix was very insistent that I know, though I cannot say why.”

Samuel nodded, pulling on his shirt. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

“I cannot say,” Optimus replied. “Were I in the same position, I may have made the same choice. But, I do think that being Samuel is affecting your recovery. Mentally, if not physically.”

“So you’re saying I should tell the truth?”

Optimus shook his head. “I can not - I will not give or deny you permission to reveal yourself. I do, however, suggest that you tell Ratchet, if no one else. You are in a unique situation and if there are . . . complications, he will know best how to deal with them.” Optimus paused. “Nor will he pass judgement,” he said quietly.

Samuel looked away. “He’s not the ones I’m worried about.”

——————————

The nearest shred of civilization to the base was twenty miles away; a tiny town called Jasper on the crossroads of the interstate and the railroad, the only reason it wasn’t a ghost town.

“KO burger?” Mikaela asked, pushing Bumblebee’s seat forward so Samuel could get out. They were on their way back to Sam’s house so that Samuel could have some of Sam’s old clothes. But first, lunch.

“Corporal Mitchell said it was good,” Sam replied.

From the drive-through came the roar of an engine and a car full of teenagers sped out, laughing and hollering as they exited the lot and took off down the street.

“Good,” Mikaela repeated with a note of sarcasm as she gave the small corner lot a pointed look. Besides Bumblebee, the only other vehicle was a lone ten-speed bike chained to a bike rack next to the door.

Whoever had designed the building had taken their cue from McDonald’s and it showed in the buttresses and large windows. While Jasper was in the high desert; meaning that it wasn’t that hot as it might be in say, Reno or Vegas, it was summer and the windows were treated to reflect heat so as not to overtax the air conditioner.

“There really isn’t much else unless you want to go out to the truck stop at the crossroads, I guess.” Sam said.

“Ew, no.” Mikaela shuddered. “What about you?” she asked turning to Samuel. “Is this your kind of place?”

“Uh . . . not really,” Samuel admitted, “I’m a pescatarian.”

“Well that’s going to make this interesting.” Mikaela snarked as they headed inside, blinking momentarily at the blast of the air conditioner.

KO Burger’s Lobby was typical. Large open space, a few roof supports painted in an attempt to be colorful, and a counter lined with registers. At the counter, near the drive-through window, a young man about Sam’s age, drive through headset on his head, was writing something on a clipboard with an irritated frown on his face.

As they approached, he looked up, the frown vanishing to be replaced by the mask like smile of any customer service worker. “Welcome to KO Burger, Home of — Sam?”

“Jack?” Sam asked, darting forward. “Jack! Oh man! Is this where you wound up?”

“Yup, wild Jasper, Nevada,” Jack said with heavy sarcasm. “Party every night in this town.”

“We can tell,” Mikaela said dryly.

Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh right. Mikaela, this is Jack Darby, we were in the car club at school. Jack, this my girlfriend Mikaela—“

“Barnes?” Jack interrupted. “Oh man, you’re dating Barnes? Dude, whatever demon you made a deal with, hook me up.”

“Oh God, not you too,” Sam groaned.

“Relax, I’m joking,” Jack told them. “Wait. ’Too’?”

“Miles is convinced I made a deal with the devil,” Sam explained. “I keep telling him there was no deal, but he won’t listen.”

“Yeah, he was always kind of off,” Jack agreed. “So when did you get a twin brother?” He indicated Samuel with his chin.

“Ah . . .” Sam said, trading glances with Mikaela. No one had expected him to run into anyone he knew in Jasper so they hadn’t bothered to come up with a cover story. “Um . . . I can’t really talk about it.”

“Uh-huh . . . and would ‘it’ also be why the old airbase is no longer abandoned?” Jack asked.

“Can’t talk about that either,” Sam admitted. “Sorry.”

“Nah, secret stuff, i get it.” Jack shrugged. “So what’re you hungry for?”

Sam ordered a cheeseburger, Mikaela and Samuel both chose what was purportedly a fillet o’ fish sandwich. They all ordered sodas and decided to share a basket of fries.

“Alright,” Jack tapped on the register keys, “and your total is . . . nada.” Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Jack waved him off. “Homie hook-up. Don’t worry about it.”

“Aren’t you gonna get in trouble?” Sam asked.

“Nah.” Jack set three drink cups on the counter. “I’m the only one who knows how to do maintenance on Mount Breakdown.” He waved a hand at the behemoth of a Slushie machine that took up most of one wall. “I’ll be fine.”

After Jack and Sam had exchanged phone numbers, they took their drinks to a table away from the counter.

“I like your friend,” Mikaela said.

“Jack? Yeah, he’s - wait, like, or like like?”

“Just like. I promise,” Mikaela assured him and looked at Samuel. “So did you know Jack in your world?”

“Jack . . . yeah,” Samuel looked out the window. “We were . . . good friends. He anchored Arcee.”

Mikaela arched an eyebrow, but decided not to press, especially as Jack was approaching carrying a tray.

As it turned out, the fish sandwiches were actually pretty good.

————————————————

At the Witwicky house, Samuel looked around in wonder. “It’s so different here,” he mused. He pointed across the street at a house painted a sort of blue gray. “The Barlows house was painted a bright green in . . . back home.”

“Uh . . . that’s the Sandersons,” Sam said.

“Oh.” Samuel turned back towards Bumblebee and made a whimpering noise.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam asked.

“Just . . . this really isn’t my world.” Samuel lifted his hands. “I mean . . . the big things, the really noticeable differences, yeah, that’s . . . but then . . .” he waved his hand in the general direction of the Sandersons’ house. “Little things, it just nails you right in the chest.” He leaned forward and rested his head on Bumblebee’s roof. “And it hurts.” for a moment, he stayed like that and then he pushed himself up, swiping at his face with one hand. “Apologies.”

“No . . . nah, it’s fine. You . . . it’s hard to deal with.” Sam nodded, well aware he was saying whatever he could think of to sound comforting and supportive and that it probably sounded like babbling, but he couldn’t stop. “I mean, I’d be upset too, so it’s totally okay.”

Samuel looked down and muttered something, but Sam couldn’t quite make it out.

“Sorry?” Sam asked and Samuel looked up.

“Miles,” Mikaela interrupted.

“Miles?” Sam asked. Mikaela lifted her chin, looking behind him. Turning his head just enough to look over his shoulder, Sam could see his friend walking towards them. “Oh jeez.”

It wasn’t that Sam didn’t like Miles, but his priorities had shifted over the last year and they’d drifted apart and he had no idea how to bridge that gap. Not to mention, Miles’ fixation on the idea that Sam had made a deal with the devil was just irritating and now he needed to explain the fact that he somehow had a twin and . . . “Hey, Samuel. Did you ever see a movie called ‘Death River’?”

“Yes?”

“Remember the scene with the twins?”

Samuel glanced behind him and then they grinned at each other.

“Oh my God,” Mikaela muttered, hand over her mouth.

“Sam! Hey Sam!” Miles was waving as he crossed the lawn. “Hey, Sam.”

In unison, Sam and Samuel turned around. “Hello, Miles.”

“Uh . . . ah . . .” Miles looked back and forth between them. “Sam and . . . Sam?”

Mikaela put her head down in Bumblebee’s roof, trying very hard not to laugh, and she could feel Bumblebee shaking, as he too, was doing his best to restrain his own mirth.

“It’s been too long, Miles,” Sam and Samuel walked towards the other boy, each one stretching out their hand. “He has heard you and it is time. Time to serve him. Serve and become one. One with him, with us.”

Miles tripped backwards and curled up into a ball.” No no no.”

“You offered, Miles and he has heard. Heard, and accepted.” Sam and Samuel knelt on either side of the prone young man, and Sam plucked a few blades of grass. “It is time, Miles.”

“I was kidding! Kidding! It was a joke! A joke! I’m sorry!”

“Exactly,” Sam said and dropped the grass on Miles’ face.

“Uh, what?” Miles uncovered his face.

“Seriously, dude,” Sam gave him a light shove. “Come on, do I look like a guy who knows how to make deals with the devil?”

“But you . . . wait, did you just do the twin speech from Death River?” Miles sat up, utterly offended. “Not cool!” Mikaela lost it, falling against Bumblebee’s hood, howling with laughter. “Not cool!” Miles stood up, actually shaking his fist at Sam, who lost it in turn, leaning against Bumblebee’s side, hands clutching his middle.

“Oh man, the look on your face!” Sam howled. “God, I wish I had a camera.”

Miles crossed his arms and glared, utterly indignant. “Why Death River? I mean seriously. You couldn’t have picked another movie? One that isn’t Death River, which is like, every move there is?” He looked at them and then at Samuel again. “And where did you get a twin anyway?”

The time spent driving in from Jasper had been spent discussing just that and Sam took a deep breath.. “We ran into him a few days ago and we decided we should hang out.” He shrugged. “Everyone’s got a doppleganger, y’know?”

“Wow.” Miles peered at Samuel. “Holy shit, aside from the scar, he really looks like you.” He narrowed his eyes. “You sure he’s not an evil twin from another dimension?”

“Wouldn’t he have a goatee?” Sam asked.

“I have never had a goatee,” Samuel deadpanned.

“Okay, he doesn’t talk like you. Jeez, dude.” Miles shook his head. “You owe me.”

Sam crossed his arms “For?”

“Giving me a heart attack just now, and I demand satisfaction. Battle Monsters, two out of three.”

“Like you have ever been able to beat me at Bat Mon.”

“I differ!”

“You are a differ.”

“For that, I get Apex.”

With that, Sam and Miles headed inside, Samuel and Mikaela forgotten.

“I’m glad,” Mikaela said softly. Samuel looked at her. “Sam and Miles used to be really close. You look at their MySpace pages and they were inseparable. But then the Autobots happened.” She sighed. “They changed everything.” she started walking towards the house and Samuel followed.

Inside, she led him to the kitchen, getting them both sodas ad sitting down at the kitchen table. “Can I ask you something?” she asked.

“Uh, I guess?”

“You said you and Jack were good friends. Can I ask how good?” Samuel looked away and she saw the glint of tears. “No. I’m sorry, that was too personal, you don’t have to answer.”

Samuel shook his head, and then wiped away the tears. “We . . . we were figuring things out. But then the Autobots came and Jack was . . . uneasy about the side effects.” Mikaela cocked her head, the gesture more than enough to ask. “With a bionetic bond, it’s not just switching bodies. You . . . you’re linked to the Cybertronain. You see what they see, hear what they hear, feel what they feel and Arcee and Cliffjumper were . . . were close.”

“Jack thought your feelings were their feelings.” Mikaela realized.

Samuel looked down at the table. “Yeah. H-he . . .he didn’t abandon the fight, but I was kept at arm’s length for a while after. I think we were getting to a point where we could, y’know, talk about it, but then Galvatron went all out, and people were dying, and then Jack was dead and we never fixed anything!” Both of Samuel’s hands slammed down on the kitchen table, making the cans of soda jump. “I miss him, everyone . . . I miss you.” For a moment, Mikaela was deathly afraid that they had been wrong about Samuel’s mental state and that he thought he was back home in his world. “I mean, not you, but her you. Other her. Something. Apologies.”

Mikaela relaxed. “It sounds like you were close to her too.” Samuel nodded. “Is that why you freaked out when you saw me?”

Samuel stared. “What?”

From overhead, they heard Sam yell and then something fell through the ceiling, hissing at it burned through the wood. Samuel reached out and caught it, triggering flashes of light For just a moment, Mikaela thought she was seeing someone else inside Samuel’s skin, and then Samuel closed his hand and the lightning vanished.

“What was that?” Mikaela asked. Samuel didn’t answer, he was staring at his hand, eyes moving as though in a REM state. “Samuel?”

He looked up. “We have to get back the base.”

It was a testament to how weird Mikaela’s life had become that she simply nodded and stood up, heading for the stairs, Samuel on her heels, where they met Sam coming down the stairs.

“We’re going back to the base,” she told him, grabbing him by the arm and pushing him towards the front door.

“But-“

“Samuel has it!”

“But why—“

“Move!”

With that, Mikaela shoved him out the door and over to Bumblebee, where she pushed him into the driver’s seat before getting in herself.

“Back to the base, Bee,” she said, buckling her seat belt. Bumblebee chirped acknowledgement and then floored it. Sam didn’t live too far from the freeway, traffic was light, and Bumblebee was very, very fast. They would be at the on-ramp within minutes.

“But WHY are we going back to the base?” Sam exclaimed.

“This is a piece of the Allspark,” Samuel said holding up a small chunk of metal. “It tried to download a bunch of stuff directly into my brain. It probably did the same to you. We need to talk to Ratchet.”

“Sam, how did you get a piece of the Allspark?” Mikaela asked.

“I was going through some of my old clothes to give Samuel and I picked up the sweatshirt I was wearing in Mission City. It fell out and I caught it, but it like, burned my hand.” Sam looked at his open palm. “So I dropped it.”

“Wait a minute,” Mikaela was staring at him. “Sam, a piece of the Allspark has been in your sweatshirt for over a year. A year, and you never picked it up? Never washed it?”

“Well . . . no?”

“What’s an Allspark?” Miles asked from the backseat.

——————————

Getting back to base was more important then Miles finding out and by the time they crossed the state line, they’d told him the entire story.

“So alien robot car, not demon car.” Miles thought about this and then nodded. “Cool.”

“‘Bee’s not a car!” Samuel exclaimed. Miles gave him a look and then pointedly raised his eyes to look at Bumblebee’s roof. “Well okay, he’s a car some of the time. But the term is ‘mech’.”

“Whatever,” Miles waved it off. “Still, it’s pretty cool. God, I would never have to pay for drinks ever again with this story.”

“Okay, one,” Sam half-twisted around in the driver’s seat, trusting in Bumblebee to keep them steady. “You’re six weeks younger than I am and we just graduated high school. That is nowhere near being twenty-one. Two, you cannot tell anyone about this. Not your dad, not Jack Darby, not anyone.”

“Jack Darby? He moved like, five years ago. Why would I tell him? How would I tell him?”

“He works at a burger stand in Jasper, Nevada,” Samuel put in. He was resting his elbow on the tiny rear passenger window, head propped up on his fist, and watching Sam and Miles with a faint, fond smile.

“Memories?” Mikaela asked.

Samuel nodded, though the smile faded away and he turned to look out the window. “Yeah. Memories.”

————————————

It wasn’t until they were racing up the road to the base that it occurred to Sam to ask. “Bee, why’d you let Miles in?”

“It’s a joke, I say, it’s a joke son!” exclaimed Foghorn Leghorn’s voice from the radio. “It’s a joke and you missed it! Flew right over your head.” A pause, and the the radio spoke again, the words stitched together from different audio clips. “You need Miles. I am proud to be your friend, but I cannot be your only friend. You need Miles and he needs you.”

“But—“

“Sam. Both our people are social creatures. Us more than you. All we have left of Cybertron is each other. You still have Earth. Ron, Judy, Will, Sarah, Annabelle, Mikaela, Miles. The soldiers. Already you have more friends who are alive than I do. Four million years I have fought the Deceptions—“

“Four Million—holy shit!” Miles exclaimed. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Bumblebee confirmed. “So many mechs dead. On both sides. Autobots and Decepticons. You do not have this burden, nor should you. If anything, I would want you to have more friends, more to share your joys and to help you with your sadness. More humans. more friends, Family.”

At the word ‘Family’, Sam and Mikaela looked at each other and even a blind man could see that they were both thinking the same thing.

“Someday,” Mikaela said as they passed through the gates.

“Uh . . . who is that?” Miles pointed out the window at the scene in front of the main hanger. Most of the Autobots and just about all the soldiers were gathered behind Prime who was facing down a mech at least head taller than him and again as wide. “It that one of those bad guys?” While neither was throwing punches, all body language clearly showed that both Prime and the newcomer were a hairsbreadth away from fighting.

“No.” Bumblebee came to a stop and opened his doors. “I don’t think so.”

“Bumblebee.” Arcee, or rather, one of her three selves had come rolling over. “Glad you’re back.”

“Who is that?” Sam asked, pointing at the giant.

“Ironhide called him Grimlock,” Arcee replied. “Apparently he and Prime go way back, and they do not like each other.”

“So he’s an Autobot?”

“You Prime no need know why Grimlock here!” The voice thundered across the base and the ground vibrated as Grimlock took a step forward, coming almost to the point of touching his chest to that of Prime’s. “Me Grimlock AM here and me Grimlock fight Decepticons.”

“If you wish to fight, Grimlock, that is your wish, but there are rules.” Prime’s voice held a note of real anger. “You will follow them or I _will_ offline you. One, this planet belongs to the humans. We are guests here. Two. The humans wish for us to conceal ourselves. You will find an alternate form and use it when off base unless in battle. Three. You will make reasonable efforts to prevent the loss of human life and property while in battle. Four. You will respect human customs and laws. Five. _I am Prime_. There is a time for discussion and dispute, and there is a time to follow my orders. I expect you to know the difference.”

For a moment, it seemed like Grimlock was going to hit Prime, and then the large Mech nodded. “Me Grimlock accept stupid rules.”

Prime nodded back. “Arcee, please show Grimlock to Ratchet and help him choose an alternate form.” Prime did not wait for an acknowledgement but instead turned on his heel and headed east, towards the small creek that ran through the base, where he clasped his hands behind his back and stared out into the desert, shoulders tense.

“Well that went well,” Lennox noted as he walked over to them. “Sam. I see you have your friend Miles with you, who is not cleared to know about any of this.” Lennox raised both eyebrows in a demand for an explanation.

“Sam found a piece of the Allspark. Miles was there and followed us into Bumblebee.” Samuel showed him the Allspark piece. “It was more important to get back here than it was to kick him out.”

“Besides, Sam kicked me out if the car last year so he could impress Barnes out at the lake,” Miles said casually. “I guess he didn’t want to repeat himself.”

“You what?” Mikaela practically snarled. Mikaela’s experiences with trust and honesty growing up had been less than ideal and as a result, she tended to have strict ideas about how to treat your friends, family, and lovers.

“Ah . . . uh . . .” Sam stammered. “I . . . “

Lennox gave Miles a considering look. “Revenge complete?”

Miles sighed happily. “Oh dear God yes.”

—————————

Ratchet lowered his scanner. “I’m not seeing any abnormal brain activity in either of you.” He looked directly at Samuel. “And you say the Allspark piece downloaded information directly into your brain just by touching it?”

Samuel nodded. “Some kind of equation. I . . . I’m not very good at Cybertronian, let alone math.”

“Hm. Ratchet waved one hand at the computer. “Show me.”

A flash of light, and Samuel was replaced by the large red mech who then carefully made his way to the computer terminal and plugged in.

“How you human do that?” Grimlock demanded.

“Samuel comes from an alternate timeline,” Ratchet explained. “Simply put, he is one mind in two bodies, one of them being an Autobot.”

“Why Autobot not in body?”

“I’m working on that.”

On the screen, Cybertronian glyphs scrolled upwards, some incomplete, some clearly corrupted.

“There.” Samuel unplugged and in another flash of light, reverted back to human.

“Hm.” Ratchet peered at the screen. “These look like astro navigation coordinates . . . but the words . . .”

“It is Old Cybertronian,” Prime said. “From the time of Primus and the First Primes. The Allspark is a product of that time and it stands to reason that whatever it sent to Samuel’s brain would also be in that language.”

“Can you read it, Optimus?” Ratchet asked.

“Some. You are correct, Ratchet, those are navigation coordinates. Specifically, navigation coordinates for earth.”

“Earth? But why would the Allspark fragment have those?” Ratchet frowned. “Are you saying—“ From outside there came the sound of a sonic boom and then the hanger shook as alarms blared.

“Prime!” Arcee came barreling into the room. “Something came out of the sky and crashed into the desert! Ten klicks northeast!”

“Autobots roll out!”

——————————————

It didn’t take long to reach the crash site.

Arcee, whose monowheel let her move quickly, sent one of her selves ahead to scout while the Autobots and humans took cover behind dunes and rock outcroppings.

“Anything?” Ironhide asked.

“Coming up on them now,” Arcee replied. “One ship, about the size of a shuttle, looks like it’s from before the war; has that golden orange color. Six mechs, with a seventh strapped to the hull, bound and gagged.”

“Are they armed?” Prime asked.

“One has a some kind of detachable cannon on their back, another one, the biggest, has shoulder cannons, retracted, and a third has what looks like a pair of hand held gatling guns. They’re all gathered near the ship’s rear. Looks like engine trouble.”

“Are they Decepticons?” Lennox asked.

Arcee frowned. “I’m not even sure they’re Cybertronians. Some of them look like they have organic components or designs.”

“Nebulons?” Ironhide asked.

“Maybe. The Praxians did that too.” Arcee frowned. “We can rule out the GoBings, they’re definitely not Guardian chassis.”

“And they’re sort of busy with ecological collapse and global civil war,” Ironhide added. “Or they were three hundred years ago.”

Lennox and Epps exchanged glances. Every so often, Ironhide would casually mention something that reminded the humans of just how long-lived Cybertronians were. At first, it had given Lennox a sense of awe. Now, it just made him roll his eyes.

“So do we attack or not?” Bulkhead asked.

“Autobots, move in, but do not fire unless fired upon,” Prime decided. “Rules of engagement apply.”

With that, the Autobots moved to within visual range of the ship. It was as Arcee said, a golden orange ship, nose buried in the sand. Six mechs gathered around the rear of the ship, with a seventh strapped to the roof, bound and gagged. The largest of the six, a mech who was colored blue and orange appeared to be the leader as he seemed to be one everyone was talking to. They were still too far away to hear the conversation, but the way the mechs were gesturing, they were arguing about what to do next.

Gesturing for Bulkhead and Ironhide to follow, Prime stepped into full view and headed for the ship at a measured pace. At the ship, the strange mechs turned, some reflexively reaching for weapons, but the blue and orange one shook his head, gesturing for his troops to stand down, before turning to face them, hands behind his back.

At thirty yards away,. Prime stopped and spoke. “I am Optimus Prime, Autobot commander and defender of this planet. Identify yourselves.”

For a moment, the desert was quiet, and then the tied up mech began to laugh through his gag, loud and long.

The blue and orange mech sighed, both in annoyance and resignation. “Well . . . that’s just **Prime**.”

————  
Note: GoBings were the racial name of the inhabitants of the planet Gobotron, colloquially known as the GoBots due to a planetary disaster forcing them to inhabit shapeshifting cybernetic bodies.


	3. Chapter 3

 

“Oh for bootin’ up cold!” The smallest of the newcomers yelled. “There’s no way that’s Optimus Prime!  Sure, the voice is the same, but come on! This guy’s got a mouth!”

Prime cocked his head. “The Optimus Prime you know does not have a mouth?”

Over the comlink, Grimlock snorted. “Me Grimlock like them Prime better already.”

The blue and orange mech had his hand over his face and looked like he was in pain. “Rattrap . . .”

“What? I’ve seen the data tracks! You mean to tell me we went through the entire slaggin’ Beast Wars, and this is what we get? No way, Fearless Leader! I dunno where we are, but that ain’t Optimus Prime!”

Prime considered this. “If I’m not Optimus Prime, then who am I?”

“How should I know? That’s Rhinox and the spider lady’s thing!” Rattrap waved a hand at the second biggest mech and a tall thin mech. “Ask them.”

The blue and orange mech stepped closer, his optics meeting Prime’s, who calmly stared back. 

“Prime?” Arcee asked. 

“Stand down, Maximals,” Blue and Orange ordered. “It’s Optimus Prime.”

“What in the name of my great aunt Arcee makes you think that’s Optimus Prime?” Rattrap demanded. 

All three of Arcee’s selves jerked back in surprise.

“He has the Matrix, Rattrap, I can feel it.”

“Oh, you feel it. How do you know what it feels like?” Rattrap asked. Blue and Orange gave him a look. “Okay yeah, so what? That still ain’t the Optimus Prime in my data tracks!”

“Because it’s not.” The second biggest of the newcomers, a mech whose chestplate looked like some animal’s mouth had stepped forward. 

“Rhinox?” Blue and Orange asked.

“Different timeline, different Optimus Prime.” Rhinox crossed his arms.

“A different timeline?” Blue and Orange looked thoughtful. “But how— the turbulence.”

“Yup. Right before we crashed.”

“Well great. Optimus and I are both right.” Rattrap flung his hands wide. “Now how do we get back to our timeline and Cybertron?”

“Can’t. Engine’s fried.” Rhinox rapped a knuckle on the ship’s hull. “Only place this is going is the slag heap.”

“Uh-uh!” Rattrap exploded. ”No way, Optimus! I did not get shot down, transmetaled, and nearly get my aft fried off Primus knows how many times just to get stranded in the cockamamie twentieth century of some other universe! None of this is what I signed up for! What any of us signed up for!”

“Rattrap,” Blue and Orange Optimus began, but Rattrap slammed his fist against the ship’s hull. 

“Air Razor! Tigertron! Dinobot! Depth Charge! The pods! We had more than a hundred forms in the hold and the only ones who survived are the dog guy and the spider lady! Is this all we get? Huh? What about us? All that and we get to fight some more only instead of the Preds it’s the Cons? Well whoop dee freakin’ do!”

“No one’s said we’re not going home, Rattrap,” Blue and Orange Optimus told him. “We’re just not doing it in the shuttle. I promise you, all of you, we will get home.”

“We’d better,” Rattrap muttered.

Blue and Orange Optimus nodded and turned back to Prime. “Let me start over. I’m Optimus Primal, Maximal Commander. This is my second in command, Rattrap, sabotage and intelligence. Rhinox, our engineer, Cheetor, reconnaissance and operations.”

A mech with distinctly feline features lifted one hand. “Hi.”

“That’s Blackarachnia, our data specialist.” The tall thin mech Rattrap had indicated earlier inclined her head. “And Silverbolt, our . . .”

“Aerial operations and security,” said the last mech, a grey and white mech with a face like a wolf’s. 

“Anyone else hear a trumpet fanfare?” Bulkhead asked over the comlink.

Prime nodded. “This is Ironhide, and Bulkhead.”

“The human is Captain William Lennox of the army,” Ironhide added.

“Lennox? Not Witwicky?” Cheater almost seemed hurt.

“Do not fear, Cheetor,” Silverbolt said. “I am sure that Lennox is as brave and worthy of a friend to the Autobots as Spike was.”

“No, really,” Bulkhead asked over the com, “am I the only one who hears trumpets when that guy talks?”

“Yeah, well, I try,” Lennox said, equal parts amused, curious, and confused.

“Who’s the guy strapped down?” Ironhide asked. 

“Oh this?” Rattrap asked. “This here is Megatron. Predacon, general slag-hole, and beaten. He’d say hello, but he’s a little tied up right now.” Megatron growled through his gag. “Oh, sorry, Megs, did we _rope_ you into the discussion? It’s _knot_ like we’re gonna skip over all the slag you’ve done at your trial.” Rattrap pulled a gun off his back and jammed the barrel against the much larger mech’s head. “ _Assuming we don’t scatter bits of you across this desert first._ ”

“Rattrap, don’t,” Blackarachnia said in a very bored voice. She appeared to be doing her nails. Or were those claws?

“You sweet on him, Legs?” Rattrap demanded. 

No, if you shoot him like that the barrel will explode.”

 “No one is shooting anyone,” Primal ordered. “Megatron is a prisoner and he has a right to trial. _On Cybertron_.” 

“Aw,” Rattrap moaned. 

“I suggest returning to base.” Optimus told them. “There is much to discuss.”

 

————————————

 

Lennox stared out at the desert from Ironhide’s cab. “What’s your take, ‘Hide?”

Ironhide grunted. “They’re not Decepticons. Beyond that, there’s a hell of a lot they’re not saying.”

“Noticed that too.” Lennox frowned. “Hiding what?”

“Not sure.” Ironhide increased his speed a bit. “Prime’s name means something to ‘em. So does Sam’s. Pretty clear Primal’s their leader, and the fact that he picked up on Prime’s Matrix means he’s carried it.”

“Makes sense.”

“And then there’s this ‘Beast Wars’ business,” Ironhide continued. “If I had to guess, their alt modes are animals.”

“Right. Rattrap called Blackarachnia ‘spider lady’.”

“It’s poor tactics. Where were they that animal forms would be required to get around? How did Primal get a Matrix? Why’s their prisoner named Megatron? For that matter, what the slag kind of name is ‘Optimus Primal’?”

“Yeah. That’s just weird.”

 

——————————

 

They locked Megatron in the shuttle and left Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and one of Arcee’s selves to keep an eye on him before retiring to the hanger. Holomatter projections allowed the Autobots and humans to gather at the lounge. The Maximals in their animal forms could also manage, save for Primal, who was simply too big, and sat just outside the lounge area in the form of a very large gorilla.

“What the hell kind of name is Optimus Primal?” Simmons demanded the moment they were seated. 

“Very diplomatic, sir,” Fowler commented. 

“Was that sarcasm, Fowler? Are you sassing me?”

“Probably,” Rattrap offered. 

“No one asked you, Mouse Guy.” 

“I’m a rat!”

“Fine. Rat Dude.”

“Now wait just a slag stompin’ minute . . .” Rattrap turned to Cheetor. “Y’know, I kinda like that one.”

Rhinox sighed. 

“We’re getting off track here,” Lennox spoke up. “You said you were Maximals, what does that mean, exactly?”

“Maximals are . . . I suppose you could say we’re descended from the Autobots,” Primal began. “Where they and the Decepticons could transform into vehicles, we can become organic life forms.”

“Bio-Plastic and Nanites,”: Rhinox agreed.

“And Megatron?” Lennox asked.

“He’s a Predacon,” Blackarachnia spat. “And a lunatic.”

Prime and Ironhide exchanged looks. Predacons had been an experimental sub-class of chassis from before the war and as far as either mech knew, the Predacons had been wiped out. 

“Megatron and several Predacons stole . . . a cultural artifact, Our ship, the Axalon, was the only one close enough to intercept.” Primal lifted one hand. “Long story short, we crashed, got stranded, and started the Beast Wars. We spent several years fighting Megatron before we found a way to get home.”

“Except we apparently ain’t home yet because the freakin transwarp drive slagged out on us and instead of going home, we’re on Earth.” Rattrap looked to the sky. “I just want to go home. Primus, why is that so much to ask?”

“Wait a cotton pickin’ whole wheat minute,” Simmons spoke up. “Monkey Guy said descendants, and that don’t sound like any contemperous co-existence.”

“Ah yes, about that . . .” Primal sighed. “We’re . . . we’re from the future. The year Twenty Two Eighty Six.”

“Time travelers. Jeez.” Lennox sat back, slightly stunned. 

“Might as well tell ‘em the rest, Optimus,” Rhinox said. 

“There’s more?”

“We’re not soldiers, we’re part of the Exploration Corps, Security Division . . . and it’s my first command.” Primal looked away. “Sorry.”

 

———————————

 

Megatron had what the humans called “crazy eyes”.  Arcee had never put much stock in the phrase . . .  until now. 

“Ah, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, is it not?” Megatron’s voice was pleasant to listen to, provided you ignored the madness that lurked underneath it. 

“Yeah, what of it?” Sunstreaker demanded. 

“You have counterparts in my timeline, you know, yes. Particularly you, Sunstreaker. Of course, you are known as the . . . shall we say, less trustworthy one.”

“You callin’ me a traitor?” Sunstreaker snarled, turning towards the shuttle.

“Oh no, no, not a traitor, no. Merely a note that your counterpart lacked his twin’s  . . . intellectual gifts, yes.”

Sunstreaker might not have been the brightest of mechs, but he knew an insult when he heard one and he let out a growl, reaching for the shuttle door and Arcee leapt forward. “Stand down, Sunstreaker!”

“But Arcee—“

“What were you going to do, Sunstreaker? Open the door and beat the slag out of him? Did it occur to you that that’s what he wants?”

“Uh . . .”

“Ah, Arcee,” Megatron purred and Arcee felt a twinge of fear. “Oh, I know _your_ name, yes. Too soft to stay with Elita One’s freedom fighters, a damsel in distress to be saved by Springer or that damnable Prime.”

“Different mech, different universe,” Arcee replied, though it took all her willpower to keep her vocal processor steady. Because she had followed Elita One millennia ago, but they had butted heads one too many times and Arcee had left. 

“Of course, of course,” Megatron nodded. “Or are you? After all, those other two with you in the desert, same chassis, different colors. How it must grate on you to share a design, yes.”

“We get by,” Arcee replied, crossing her arms. If Megatron thought her three selves were all different mechs, she certainly wasn’t going to argue. It might come in handy later.

“But then, all three reacted when the rat mentioned your name,” Megatron continued. “Ah, a split spark. Oh dear, how tragic for you.”

“I get by,” Arcee repeated.

“Oh no doubt about that, yes. But ‘getting by’, such a euphemism.” Megatron leaned against the door, getting comfortable as though they were having a chat. “After all, three inputs to one core consciousness, even if you’re all together, is so uncomfortable, so . . . messy.”

Arcee felt herself tense because he was right. She was a mech of order. She liked things neat. Friends, enemies, superiors, subordinates, your body, everyone else’s. So being in three bodies, especially against her will, grated. “It’s only a mess if I let it,” She told him and then cursed herself for giving him even that much. “Now shut up.”

“But I am only offering sympathy,” Megatron protested. “A gesture of respect, yes.”

“She told ya to shut it, Predajerk,” Sunstreaker snapped. “So shut it.”

“Sunstreaker!” Arcee snapped. “I got this.”

“You do indeed,” Megatron said smoothly, “but I’ve always wondered; what is it like? How do you keep track of everything? Not to pry, no, but whatever happened to cause your spark to split like that in the first place?” His eyes found and held hers. “Ah, Shockwave, yes. Though only three pieces? He liked things in fours . . . oh dear, you’ve lost one. The humans talk about losing themselves, but you’ve actually done it.”

Just like that, the memories came back full force. 

_The barren moon. Her and Cliffjumper being forced down. The Deception drones swarming them, and even now, she couldn’t have said how many they killed before they finally went down under the horde._

_And then Shockwave. The lab. The agony. Horror. The feeling of being hacked as she desperately tried to come to grips with being four instead of one._

_The escape. Her losing one, Cliff losing two, and the hollow aching feeling that had been part of her ever since. The loss of self, but also the one mech who had ever clicked with her. Her partner. Because what was left of Cliffjumper, wasn’t even Cliffjumper._

“A summary execution, Autobot?” Megatron asked and Arcee realized her weapons were out, safeties off, power at full. All her weapons. All three of her selves here, guns aimed, desperate to destroy if not Shockwave, the same mocking, smugness the Decepticon scientist had shown her as he’d violated her, them. Every single part of her wanted to pull the trigger, wanted it more than anything, but something else, something deeper and stronger kept her from doing so. 

“No.” It took more effort than Arcee had ever thought she was capable of, but she powered down her weapons. “No.” One by one, she reengaged the safeties and retracted the guns. Last of all, she disengaged from Battle Mode. 

“Weakness, just like your counterpart. I had hoped the more martial aspect of this timeline might make you Autobots more interesting, but alas, you disappoint me, yes.” 

Arcee did multiple system checks, the cybertronian equivalent of taking several deep breaths before she rolled closer and looked the Predacon in the eye. “No. Not now. Not ever. No.” 

She turned away and saw Prime standing there, hands clasped behind his back. “Walk with me,” was all he said. 

 

—————————

 

They walked away to the edge of the base, stopping in the shadow of what the humans called “Backrock”; a blocky mesa that sat to the rear of the base’s buildings. For minutes, they stood there, staring out at the sunset. 

“Why?” Prime asked at last, not taking his eyes from the horizon.

“I . . . don’t know,”  Arcee admitted. “I wanted to slag him with everything I had, but it was . . . it wasn’t right.”

“Why?” Prime asked again. The one word questions might have seemed strange, but the ways of the Primes were strange.

“I almost joined the Decepticons,” Arcee replied. If the seeming non sequitur took Prime by surprise, he gave no indication. “Cybertron had become stagnant, the Senate was indifferent or corrupt, and there was so much that was so wrong that rising up and I thought - I still think - that rebelling against the injustice of it all was the only way.  So when Megatron began to form the Decepticons, I went to the rallies, I listened to him talk, he said everything I’d been saying to myself, to my friends, but it wasn’t right.”

“Why?”

“Freedom is the right of all sentient beings and I will fight and if necessary, die to protect that right. To fight for any other reason is conquest. To kill for any other reason is murder and I believe that with all my spark and with all that I am.” 

At last Prime looked at her, looked at her fully. “Why?”

Arcee didn’t think about it. Didn’t need to think about it. “Because I can’t believe anything else.”

Prime looked back at the sunset and did not speak until the sun had sunk beneath the horizon. Only when it was gone, did he turn back towards the base. “Walk with me.”

 

————————————

 

“Uh, what was that?” Simmons asked. 

Not moments earlier, Arcee had suddenly recalled her avatar, popped all her weapons, and raced out of the hanger. Lennox and the Autobots had followed, leaving Simmons and Fowler alone with the Maximals. 

“Bathroom break?” Rattrap suggested. Primal flicked him in the ear.

Bumblebee entered the hanger, herding both the Witwickys, the friend and Barnes before him. 

“Is there an attack? I am ready to fight.” Silverbolt stood up straight. 

“Settle down, Bowser,” Blackarachnia said, draping one leg over Silverbolt’s back and pushing him back down. “We’d be hearing gunshots if it was.”

“Can you tell us what’s going on?” Primal asked. 

“Whoa! Giant alien robot monkey!” Miles yanked out his phone only to find himself face to stomach with Fowler. The big man could move very fast when he wanted to. “No photos?” Fowler shook his head. “Not even one?” Another shake of the head. “Aw come on, it’s for my blog.”

Simmons leaned forward. “Somewhere in Ohio is a prison. Barry Manilow plays over the speakers 16 hours a day, there’s regular showings of the Brady Bunch movie, and the only thing to read is Billy Ray Cyrus’ autobiography. So if you take even one photo, a second of video, anything, you will wake up to the sweet sounds of ‘Copa Cabana’. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Miles said, putting his phone away.

“Now,” Simmons continued. “Will someone tell me what in the cotton picking hell is going on out there?”

“Dunno,” Sam admitted. “We were watching Miles trying to teach Skids and Mudflap how to play soccer when all of a sudden, Arcee’s selves go racing by followed by the soldiers and the Autobots. I wanted to go see, but Bee made us come here.” 

“Whoa!” Cheetor darted around the table and got very close to Sam. Despite his name, his transmetal form was more akin to a very large tiger. “Check it out, guys, it’s Spike! Okay, he’s younger, but still! Spike!” 

“Uh . . . what?” Sam asked. 

“And there’s two of them!” Cheetor exclaimed, and bounded over to Samuel, who looked equally confused. “And you’re Chip!” Cheetor continued, turning to Miles. “No wheelchair this time, huh? That’s cool!” He turned to Mikaela and stopped short. “Uh . . . Carly?”

Mikaela shook her head. “My name is Mikaela.” 

“Oh . . . I mean, hi. I’m Cheetor.” 

“Stand down, Cheetor,” Primal ordered. 

“But it’s Spike!” Cheetor exclaimed. “Two Spikes! And Bumblebee! They’re here after all!”

“What?” Sam asked, utterly confused. 

“What kind of name is ‘Chip’?” Miles demanded. 

“Yeah, I’m kind of wondering about that,” Simmons drawled. “You guys are awfully excited about Witwicky here.”

Primal sighed. “In our timeline, Samuel ‘Spike’ Witwicky and his father Sparkplug were the first humans the Autobots met. The friendship between Bumblebee and Spike laid the foundation for the alliance between Earth and Cybertron and remains its bedrock.”

“But hey, no pressure,” Rattrap added.

“So wait a minute,” Miles held up both hands. “You’re not just a giant alien robot monkey, but a time traveling giant alien robot monkey from another _universe_?” He turned to Simmons. “I can’t believe you’re blog-blocking me, dude.”

“Gee, sorry to disappoint,” Simmons sneered, clearly not sorry at all. 

“So uh,  not to break up the lovefest here,” Rattrap spoke up, “but I still ain’t keen on goin’ from fightin’ the Preds straight into fightin’ the ‘Cons.”

I understand that, Rattrap,” Primal said, “and I can talk to Prime about a civilian or noncombat —“

“What? No!” Rattrap waved his paws. “To the slag pit with that! Pfft! I’d get bored within a week.” He looked down at the table. “Just . . . I wanted a break, y’know?” He sighed and then slapped both paws on the table. “Right. It’s what, nineteen eighty-five? What’s Megatron up to?”

“I ain’t telling him,” Miles said, “You do it, Spike.” He slapped Sam on the shoulder.

“Me? Why me?” Sam yelped.

“You are The Witwicky,” Miles intoned, “The Chosen One who will bridge the gap between Autobots and Humans, shining a light into the future.”

“Yeah,” Samuel said with same deadpan tone that he’d used back at Sam’s house, “but your name is Chip.”

“It is not!” Miles hollered.

“Whatever you say, Chip.”

 

————————————

 

**Abandoned Soviet Airbase,**

**Somewhere in Russia**

 

Air Major Thundercracker grimaced as he watched the warship land. The _Stalker_ was Bloodshine’s command and his paranoia was legendary. 

“‘That was quick,” Skywarp muttered. 

“Yeah, it only took ‘Shine what, a year to cross the twelve parsecs between here and Keros Four?” Ramjet snickered. 

“Guess he didn’t stop to interrogate every asteroid he came across.” Thrust rolled his optics. “You have to the vet space rocks, right?”

“Right,” Dirge confirmed. “Inanimate objects could be hiding Autobots.”

“Or are Autobots,” Ramjet continued. 

Thrust nodded solemnly. “The Astro-Bots.”

The four mechs burst into laughter.

Thundercracker could not resist a small chuckle of his own. Thrust, Ramjet and Dirge might have been exaggerating, but not by much.

The doors of the ship opened and mechs began filing out. They had black chassis, and a uniform design. 

“Vehicons!” Thrust exclaimed. “All right! The Autobots are as good as slagged!”

“Yeah, but who’s that behind them?” Ramjet asked. A larger Mech, head and shoulders above the Vehicons was coming down the ramp. “Some merc?”

“Worse,” Thundercracker groaned. “It’s Lugnut.”

“Slag,” Skywarp muttered and then fell silent as Lugnut’s cyclopean eye swung towards them and the oversized mech headed towards them, shoving others out of his way.

“Where is Lord Megatron?” Lugnut demanded as he got close.

“Where’s Bloodshine?” Thundercracker countered. 

“Oh, he’s on Tachyon Delta, and Epsilon, and a comet,” At Lugnut’s side, Blitzwing jerked a thumb back towards the _Stalker_. “Not to mention the bridge, the port airlock, the port scramjet, and twice in the galley.” 

Thundercracker repressed a shudder. If there was one thing Blitzwing liked more than seeing mechs get slagged, it was violently disassembling them. 

“Silence!” Lugnut roared. “Where is our master?”

_Your master, maybe_ , Thundercracker thought to himself. “Megatron is dead.” _And good riddance_.

“Lies!” Lugnut’s hand shot out, grasping Thundercracker by the neck and lifting him off his feet. “Megatron is invincible!” 

“Put him down,” Skywarp snarled. He and the other Seekers had their guns pointed at Lugnut’s head. 

Blitzwing, living up to his name, deployed all of his weapons. 

Past Lugnut, Thundercracker could see the other Decepticons (including a few familiar faces that he hand’t seen in stellar cycles) watching them, waiting and he realized what he was going to have to do. 

Decepticon hierarchy was defined by strength, or, as the humans put it; asskicking equals authority. 

He gestured to the other Seekers to stand down, the movement of his hand and the Seekers obeying him drawing Lugnut’s attention even as his other hand sprouted a spike that he rammed into Lugnut’s arm, disrupting the servos and weapons within and forcing the other mech to release him. Thundercracker then turned his attention to Blitzwing, throwing the psychopath off his feet with a sonic blast and then turned back to Lugnut, kicking him in the hip, hard, and then blowing out his optic with a laser blast before grabbing his arm and throwing him to the ground, slamming a heel onto Lugnut’s neck and pre-igniting the thruster therein. His arm came up, gun pointed at Blitzwing, his other gun aimed at Lugnut’s head. 

“Anyone else?” He called out, optics sweeping the assembled Decepticons. No one stepped forward. “My name is Air Major Thundercracker, I’m the senior officer-“

“And if ya don’t like it, shut up, get off planet or get slagged.” Skywarp called from behind him. 

“Ah, not to dispute your authority, Air Major,” Blitzwing said, withdrawing his own weapons, “but you said Megatron is dead?”

“Lies!” Lugnut cried out from beneath Thundercracker’s foot. “The Master could never be—“ he was cut off as Thundercracker blew out his vocal processor. 

“Optimus Prime colluded with the locals and destroyed Megatron,” Thundercracker said. “They have what’s left of his body.” Lugnut went wild at that point, struggling to throw off Thundercracker’s foot, but failing. 

“I see,” Blitzwing mused, “and what do you intend to do about it?” 

_Ideally, nothing_ , Thundercracker thought to himself, _Megatron’s corpse can rot on this planet until the end of time for all I care_. “Dirge, Ramjet. Take Lugnut to the _Stalker_ ’s brig and lock him in. Thrust, sort out the Vehicons. Separate the drones from those with sparks. Blitzwing, you help.“

“And what about us?” 

Thundercracker turned to the speaker. She was one of three mechs, two of which were the familiar faces he’d seen moments ago. “Slipstream,” he said by way of greeting.

“Air Major,” she replied, granting the title without any sarcasm. Slipstream was a master tactician as well as ambitious, ruthless, and dangerous, but the two of them had always shared a certain wary mutual respect. Also, the use of his rank implied she was willing to follow him, at least for now. 

“I want you to help Thrust with the Vehicons. Compile a list of every name or designation, ground or air, then do a complete evaluation of the _Stalker_. Battle status, equipment, everything. Then go through the buildings here and do inventory. I want to know exactly what we have, what works, and what can be slagged or repurposed. Get as many Vehicons as you need to help you.” He turned to the other mech he knew. “Sunstorm.”

“Primus willed we’d see each other again, did He not?” Sunstorm had a very melodic voice that was a joy to listen to, none of which changed the fact that she had what humans called “crazy eyes” and was firmly convinced that she embodied the Will of Primus. Thundercracker wasn’t particularly bothered by her insanity, and it made interfacing with her a lot more fun. 

“Once Thrust and Slipstream are done with the Vehicons, draw up an order of battle. Every mech gets two Vehicons, one sparked, one drone. If there’s any left over, they’re part of the _Stalker’_ s crew or base security. Reserve one sparked Vehicon as a commander.” Thundercracker thought for a moment. “I have a workstation in the big hanger. When you have a battle order, come see me there.”

Sunstorm inclined her head and walked off, leaving Thundercracker alone with the third mech. She wasn’t a Seeker, but there was a certain organic look to her that suggested Insecticon. 

“Who the slag are you?” Skywarp asked. He hadn’t moved from Thundercracker’s side.

“Arachne,” she replied. 

It took Thundercracker a moment to place the name. “You’re a medic, work with Shockwave.” It was also a subtle probe; the last thing Thundercracker needed was to have Shockwave around, especially since the scientist outranked him.

“We . . .  disagreed,” Arachne replied. “As for medic, well, I tend to disassemble, rather than repair as of late.” Her mouth curved upwards in a smile that suggested she was thinking about how to disassemble him. 

“Well unarchive those skills and go find a mini-con named Gripwrench. He’s around here somewhere.” Thundercracker waved a hand at the various structures. “We need a med bay up and running as soon as possible.”

“You’re planning something,” Arachne said, moving closer and then moved back slightly as Skywarp stuck his gun in her face.

“Get the med bay up,” Thundercracker told her. 

As they moved off, no one paid attention to the blue and gold mech on the sidelines. But then, they weren’t supposed to. 

 

—————————————

 

Samuel sat back on the couch and stared as the credits rolled. “Seriously?” He asked, eyebrows in his hairline. “That’s . . . wow.”

“Aw come on!” Miles exclaimed. “This is like, the best show ever!” 

“Brony,” Sam commented from the recliner where he and Mikaela were a tangle of limbs and bodies and utterly unashamed about it.

“And proud!” Miles raised one fist in the air. “Viva la Rainbow Dash!” 

“Rainbow Dash is not revolutionary,” Sam said drily.

“Shows what you know!” Miles pointed at Sam. “State thy favorite Pony or be known as a filthy casual.”

“Then I’m filthy,” Sam replied. 

“So very, very filthy,” Mikaela added with a grin. She rubbed her cheek against Sam’s. “Mmm, filth.”

“You two are disgusting.” Miles crossed his arms. “No, really. You just violated twelve sections of the Innuendo Act of seventy-three and that had only three sections.”

“Innuendo?” Sam looked at Mikaela. “Have we done that yet?”

“I was saving it for your birthday,” she replied with a perfectly straight face. 

“No! NO!” Miles scooted as far away on the couch as he could, finger leveled accusingly. “Keep your cutesy couple shenanigans away from me!”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you caught snuggling in the hotel jacuzzi with Amanda Bravo on our senior trip?”

“Her boyfriend too,” Miles shrugged. “Anyways, point is, we just mainlined sixteen episodes of the best show ever made and there has to be a character you liked more than others. Name them.”

“Applejack,” Mikaela said after a moment. 

“Rarity,” Sam said. Mikaela looked at him. “Gorgeous, glamorous, a gem. Like you.”

“And five boyfriend points to Sam!” Miles proclaimed. “What about you?” He asked, looking at Samuel.

“Um . . . Spike, I guess?” Samuel fiddled with his hands. “Maybe Pinkie Pie.”

“Acceptable.”

“Well I accept that I have to open the shop in the morning,” Mikaela announced, beginning the process of untangling herself from Sam. “So I’m going to bed.”

“Who sleeps anymore?” Miles responded, nonetheless rising to help clean up. 

 

“That’s fair.” 

Mikaela kissed Sam and then retrieved her jacket, gloves and helmet. “See you on Wednesday,” she said, and left. 

When the pizza boxes, soda cans, chip bags, and empty bowls of popcorn had been disposed of or placed in the dishwasher, Miles turned to them, hands on his hips. So, video games?”

“Sure,” Sam shrugged. “Samuel?”

Samuel shook his head, “Thanks, but I’m going to bed.”

“Suit yourself,” Miles said, and gestured Sam up the stairs. “Star Lords, I get the wizard, your ass is mine.” Silence. “Oh come on! That was a perfect set-up-“ Miles was cut off by the sound of a closing bedroom door. 

Growing up, Father had been insistent that doors and windows were to be closed and locked before bed. Since coming here, to this world, Samuel had continued with the habit and Ron had let it continue. Perhaps it was laziness, perhaps on some level, he understood that Samuel needed to keep some things from his old life, or perhaps he simply never noticed. Whatever the reason, he’d yet object to Samuel prowling around, checking the doors and windows, and so Samuel kept doing it. 

With that done, Samuel trudged up the stairs and into the room he’d been given. In his universe, this had been Samuel’s -the real Samuel - room. Here, it had been a guest room, but now it was Samuel’s again. 

“But you’re not Samuel,” he said out loud, “you’re just afraid.” He looked down. “Yeah, I am.”

Strangely, saying it out loud helped a little. 

 

——————————

 

Samuel stood in a void. 

That was the only word for it. A void. 

While there was something solid under his feet, or at least felt like there was, Samuel couldn’t actually see anything, but he could see. 

What the hell?

It was then that he heard the clip clopping of hooves and a pink horse trotted into view, her mane spilling down over one side of her neck and three balloons printed on each flank. 

“P . . . Pinkie Pie?”

“What?” She looked at her hooves. “Oh wow! I am Pinkie Pie! And yes, you are dreaming.”

Samuel stared. “Huh?”

Pinkie Pie raised a hoof. “Identity follows form,” she said as though making a point. “You’re seeing me as Pinkie Pie, so Pinkie Pie I am.”

“That makes . . . no sense.”

“Is that so . . . _Samuel_?” She leaned in, one blue eye boring into his.

Samuel looked away and Pinkie Pie grinned, sitting back on her haunches. “So,” she rubbed her hooves together. “You’re here, that’s good, which brings us to step three. Or four?” She pulled out a roll of paper, letting it unroll and trail off into the void somewhere. “Yup! Four!”

“You’re not Pinkie Pie,” Samuel objected, “you’re just a dream.”

“Dream, yes. Real, also yes. Cupcakes, very yes!” Pinkie Pie popped one into her mouth, offering one to Samuel, who took it, but didn’t eat it. It was chocolate, with white frosting and a single P drawn on it in pink icing.

“I don’t understand.”

“Philosophical nonsense, but this is your brain trying to comprehend a eighth dimensional physics conversation, so . . .” she shrugged. “There’s things Prime needs to know, things you need to know, and it’s time for some cryptic foreshadowing.” 

“Huh?”

“Eighth Dimensional Physics, remember? Now pay attention; the universes are merging. Kind of a consolidation; take elements from all of them, put them together, that becomes a new core universe. Except for Kiss Players, that stays where it is.” 

“Kiss Players?”

Pinkie Pie leaned in again, close enough that Samuel’s nose almost touched her cheek. “ _It stays where where it is_.”

“Uh . . . okay?”

“Yay!” Pinkie Pie did a little dance and then dropped to all fours again. “So, real quick. One, do not let the Army take that piece Sam found in his shirt, you’re going to need it. Two, It’s time for the kids to stop fighting and start getting along again. Three, Simmons knows how to find Jetfire, Jetfire knows what the poem means. Four, Ratchet should remember Flora on Vega Six, since he’s not going to believe you otherwise. Five, He is coming. You have like, a year. Six, Sir Edmund Burton. He knows things. And finally, Primal has mail, but he’s going to have to wait for delivery. Got all that?”

“Uh, I think so? But . .. shouldn’t Prime be hearing all this?”

“Maybe . . . but I like Simmons’ confused angry face.” She leapt to her hooves and walked past him. “Oh, and that’s Miles at the door.” 

“What?” Samuel turned around, but all he saw was void. “What?” he blinked and found himself staring at the bedside clock. “What?”

Someone banged on the door. “Yo, Spike squared! Wake up!” 

Samuel sat up, blinking as he tried to focus on the clock and then froze. Next to the clock was a chocolate cupcake with white frosting and a pink P on it. “Oh God,” he muttered, unconsciously scooting towards the foot of the bed and away from the nightstand. “What?”

Miles banged on the door again. “Hey! Get out here or I’ll start calling you ‘Electric Boogaloo’ and then I’ll kick your ass for making me reference that movie!”

Samuel tore his eyes from the cupcake and staggered over to the door, all but throwing it open. “Wh-“ was all he manage to get out before Miles grabbed his arm and yanked him across the hall to Sam’s room, throwing open the door. 

“Well?” Miles demanded. 

Sam stood on the bed, muttering to himself as he drew cybertronian glyphs on the wall, the same ones the Allspark fragment had downloaded into Samuel’s head. There was also mathematical equations that Samuel didn’t even recognize. 

“Ionic plasma is key for sublight drive codified by x to the twelfth power equals e times reactor mass!” Sam insisted, pointing at one of the equations “Molecular photonic emissions provide point six c optimum cruising velocity.” 

“So there we are, playing Star Lords, and all of a sudden, Sam leaps up and starts writing on the walls like he’s channeling Jack Nicolson in the Shining meets Alfred Einstein having a Eureka moment. I’m all for wall art, but I’m pretty sure this has something to do with our wacky space friends.”

“Bhains ki aulad,” Samuel groaned, because that had been Mr. Acharya’s favorite swear and English just did not seem like enough right now. He then ran over and pulled Sam away from the wall. The Bionetic Bond came with a small strength boost and the bio-plastic shell added a little more, enough to overpower Sam, anyway, and drag him from the room.

“Warp jumps connect two points in lateral space by subspace point to point wormholes!” Sam reached out to write on the wall, but Samuel knocked his hand away. “Define as e to the twenty-sixth power times distance over speed equals zero.”

Samuel didn’t respond as they made it down the stairs and out the front door. 

“I don’t know,” Samuel said in response to Bumblebee’s questioning chirp. “We need Ratchet.”

Bumblebee’s engine rumbled to life as the driver’s side door opened and the seat moved forward. Samuel pushed Sam into the backseat.

“Warp jump coordinates are determined by establishing a six point destination plus a seventh for the origin!” Sam protested, reaching up to begin writing on Bumblebee’s ceiling. 

“That’s the Starportals on Wormhole Extreme,” Miles shot back, diving into the passenger seat. “Here, Paper and crayons!” 

As they backed out of the driveway, Miles looked at Samuel. “It’s over three hundred miles to Jasper, there’s a nutcase in the backseat, it’s dark, and we should be wearing sunglasses.”

From the radio came John Belushi’s voice. “Hit it.”

_____________

Notes:  
Bhains ki aulad - Son of a buffalo


	4. Chapter 4

Ratchet had cobbled together a long range early warning system that was supposed to give the base warning of any approaching craft, from space or otherwise, but he was no engineer and the system was offline more often than not. As their first task, the Maximals, with the exception of Blackarachnia, who had been assigned to help hunt down the Decepticons using the ‘net, were in charge of getting it up and running.

Easier said than done.

Rhinox lifted the heavy cable that would both supply power to the dish and connect it to the base equipment in one hand, and then sighed. “This ain’t gonna be pretty,” he said mournfully. They had spent the past twelve hours and then some working on it and most of that was Rhinox rewriting the operating code from scratch in order to make it fully compatible with the base’s systems, and he’d had to do some work on those as well.

“No one said it had to be pretty, Rhinox,”, Primal pointed out, “all it has to do is work.” He picked up the heavy dish and those into the air to put in place atop Backrock.

“Oh, it’ll work,” Rhinox replied, “just won’t be pretty.” He let the cable fall. “Slag! Is it too much to ask for even the _beginnings_ of ionic plasma?”

“But it’s the 21st century,” Cheetor pointed out. “They used ionic plasma for—“

“For Autobot City, yes,” Rhinox interrupted, “but Autobot City was built around Metroplex and Wheeljack had already taught humans about ionic plasma in the early Nineties. But that was in _our_ timeline. Here, Prime has forbidden giving tech to the humans.”

“Yes, he has,” Primal agreed in a tone that suggested that he did not agree with the order. “So we’ll work with what we have.”

“Indeed we will,” Silverbolt agreed. “This system may be our only warning against a Decepticon attack.”

“Eh, I dunno ‘bout that,” Rattrap said, “I mean, missiles are probably gonna be a pretty big clue.” 

“And ‘Cons shooting at us,” Cheetor chucked. 

“Oh yeah, that’s gonna be really good indicator.”

“And Starscream flying around going ‘Decepticons! Retreat!’ the moment he gets his aft shot at.”

“Don’t underestimate Starscream,” Primal said sternly. “We’ve fought him once already and nearly lost. Okay, the dish is connected.” He let out a sigh. “Besides,” he added in a much more subdued tone, “so much is different in this timeline, we can’t be sure of anything.”

“Okay, Bossbot,” Cheetor agreed, and then; “Oh hey! You think his spark is immortal here too?”

“Don’t know, don’t wanna know,” Rhinox observed, turning to the console. “Commencing POST.” He threw a switch.  "POST is green, beginning startup sequence . . . also green, Acquiring data feed . . . looks good.”

“Very nice, Rhinox,” Primal approved, having come back down. He leaned over to get a better look at the screen. “What’s that blip?”

Rhinox tapped keys. “Based on speed, direction and distance from us, I’d say Reno to Vegas flight.”

“Oh man, Vegas,” Rattrap chuckled. “I remember when I was a youngling, an’ Great Aunt Arcee took me there. Y’know, they were the first human city to build hard light holos into—“ Rattrap broke off as they heard the roar of a car engine and a frantic beeping of the horn.

“Isn’t that Bumblebee’s engine?” Cheetor asked.

“Yes, and something must be wrong,” Primal replied and took off at a run, the Maximals close behind. 

As they rounded the hanger, they watched as Bumblebee screeched to a halt and the humans spilled out. “. . . conversion is defined as three c over four to the twelfth!” Sam was yelling as he was pulled out.

Miles, Samuel,” What is going on?” Primal asked. Other Autobots were drifting forward, drawn by the noise. 

“Uh, ‘scuse you,” Miles replied, slapping his hand over Sam’s mouth. “That’s _Doctors_ Lancaster and Witwicky, thank you very much.”

“Doctors?” Bulkhead laughed, “since when?”

“Well we might as well be,” Miles grumbled. “He spent the entire trip yelling about astrophysics. It was like taking a math class taught by Gilbert Gottfried.” 

The slight vibrations in the ground told them that Prime was approaching and Sam suddenly burst free and ran towards him. “Quantum flux is incompatible with organic neurofiber,” he yelled.

“Oh good,” Miles muttered, “we’ve gone from astrophysics to xenobiology. _Much_ simpler.”

“Organic neural net compatibility with core spark is rated by thickness of myelin sheathing and defined as six equals forty-three over D!” Sam was yelling as he fell to his knees hunched over, clutching at his head. “Continued exposure results in cranial biomatter implosion!”

“Sam?” Prime asked.

“Breakdown . . . breakdown . . .” Sam looked up at Prime. “ _Help me_ . . .”

Prime reached out with one hand and Sam stiffened as though he was being shocked and then he _glowed_ , energy and other things the gathered mechs and two humans couldn’t even name arched out of Sam’s body and into Prime’s hand like a vacuum. Perhaps even more unnerving, Prime’s eyes were glowing with the same kind of energy that was flowing into his hand. 

Then it was over, and Sam collapsed, Bumblebee darting forward, scooping up Sam’s unconscious body and running towards Ratchet’s med bay.

“What in the Pit?” Cheetor asked. 

“He pulled the Allspark energy out of Sam’s body,” Primal breathed.

“He can do that?” Rattrap looked at Primal. “Did you know he could do that?”

Primal blinked down at him. “Until just now, no.” For that matter, he wasn’t sure _how_ he knew what had happened.

“I don’t think Prime did either,” Rhinox observed. Indeed, Prime was staring at his hand, flexing his fingers as though he was trying to figure out what had just happened.

From beyond the hangers came a loud bang and something on fire flew into the air, arcing into the sky and then coming down straight towards them. Cheetor and Silverbolt yanked Miles and Samuel backwards as the flaming object crashed into the asphalt right where they had been standing. Other Autobots scattered as well, shields flaring up and weapons cycling their capacitors. 

Primal sprayed the object with foam and with the flames gone, they could see the blackened dish of the early warning system, embedded into the ground. “Is that . . .” Primal started to ask, and then stopped as another explosion was heard and smoke belched into the air.

“So uh . . .we classifying that as a launch problem or a design problem?” Everyone gave Rattrap a look. “What?” he protested, “I like that movie!”

—————————

Sam harbored a secret fondness for Disneyland, one he hadn’t shared with Mikaela originally because he feared looking uncool, but now, well, he wanted to take her there as a surprise date, but that took money he didn’t have. Yet.

Still, he all but skipped down Main Street — with sudden lucidity, he realized that this wasn’t Disneyland. None of the shops were open, there were no people, and Rarity the pony was seated on a bench in front of a candy shop, casually reading a magazine. 

“What?”

“A dream, Darling,” Rarity told him. “Leftover Allspark energy in your body.”

Sam looked at his hands, half expecting to see them glowing.

“Oh none of that,” Rarity told him. “Though we do have to keep this brief. That energy isn’t going to last and it is the only way we can have this conversation.” 

“You’re not Rarity,” Sam said, seizing on the only part that made sense to him. 

“Well of course I’m not—“ Rarity broke off as she turned around to look at her reflection in the window. “Oh! Oh my. This _is_ delightful. Well! I suppose I am Rarity after all.” She turned her head this way and that. “Ah, I do love a sense of humor!”

“I . . .” Sam shook his head to clear it. “Okay, look. What. Is. Going. On?”

“Ask Samuel, Darling. I’ve already been over it with him, and we only have so much time until the last of the Allspark energy is gone from your body.” Rarity took one last look at herself in the window before turning back around. “So, to put butter on the biscuit, as Applejack might say, you have a part to play in all this.”

“You mean like Spike in the Maximals’ universe?”

“Somewhat. Though really, that universe . . . well, it started out with a much different purpose than what it became.”

“Wait. Purpose?”

“Everything has a purpose, Darling.” Rarity patted the bench and Sam found himself sitting down beside her. “But that is neither here nor there at the moment. Here, take a look at this.” Rarity flipped through several pages of the magazine and then showed him a photograph and Sam gaped, open mouthed. 

In the photo, Jack Darby, a red-haired girl with dark skin and gold colored eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, Sam, and Mikaela were all on the floor in front of a Christmas Tree. Each one wore a Christmas sweater that was clearly his Mom’s handiwork and Sam recognized the sweaters he and Mikaela wore because they had posed for this exact picture their first Christmas together (just eight months ago) in those same sweaters. Neither Jack or the redhead had been there either

Sam took the magazine from Rarity without really realizing he’d done so. “Who is she?”

“Someone who is very, very scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“You, Sam. Your good opinion matters very highly to her and she’s afraid of your reaction if she comes forward. When she does - and she will because she has far more courage than she gives herself credit for - you need to accept her. Accept her for all that she is, and all that she’s done. Because she needs that to forgive herself.”

“Why? What did she do?”

“Oh the worst crime of all, M’dear; she lived.”

——————————

 The Army had taught Lennox to be awake and alert at any hour, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Especially since being called out to the base in the early morning hours meant he wasn’t spending those same hours holding Sarah in his arms. Objectively speaking, that was his second favorite activity in the world. The first was being a dad.

Now he sat at the conference table with Samuel, Simmons, Bulkhead, Prime, Rhinox, Arcee, Primal, Ironhide and Ratchet, and listened with a mix of incredulity and dull surprise as Samuel recounted the events of the previous night.

“A dream.” Lennox said flatly when Samuel had finished. “No offense, Samuel, but that’s not exactly something I can report to General Abernathy.”

“Yeah, it’s cockamamie coo-coo,” Simmons added. “Last thing I need is get pulled in for a psych evaluation - _again_ \- because the half-robot kid had a dream.” Everyone looked at Simmons who shrugged. “He’s one mind in two bodies. Half and half. Robot. Kid.”

“Except, Agent Simmons,” Prime spoke up, “it does explain a few things.”

“Yeah?”

“Assume for a moment that there is a multiverse. Different universes where events played out in other ways. _If_ that is the case, and _if_ this Multiverse is being distilled down into a single coherent universe, then Samuel’s presence, and that of Primal and the Maximals, becomes less of a strange coincidence and more of an effect of that distillation.”

“And it is true,” Ratchet added, “I did know a mech named Flora on Vega Six.”

“First we’re hearing about it,” Ironhide noted.

“It was . . . personal,” Ratchet sighed. “Most likely why -ugh - _Pinkie Pie_ mentioned it.”

Simmons’ face was now a mix of confusion and anger, and Samuel had to admit; it was kind of funny. “Well ain’t that all nice and neat,” Simmons spat, “But I ain’t never heard of no Jetfire so I don’t see —“ Simmons broke off, frowning.

“Simmons?” Lennox asked asked after a minute or so. 

Simmons shot to his feet. “You!” He pointed at Bulkhead. “Green guy! We’re going for a ride.”

Bulkhead flicked a glance at Prime, who nodded. Bulkhead recalled his avatar and moments later, they were driving out of the hanger.

“Hey!” Miles entered the conference area. “The machine that goes bing just went bing.” 

“You mean the energonic spectrometer?” Ratchet asked.

“You say energonic spectrometer, I reference Monty Python,” Miles replied. “Either way, it just went bing. Oh hey, who brought cupcakes? Dibs!” Miles started to reach for the cupcake in the center of the table but stopped when Samuel grabbed his arm. “Huh?” 

Samuel’s eyes had shrunk to pinpricks, his skin pale and his mouth open as he stared at the cupcake. It was chocolate, with white frosting and a pink P on it. Exactly like the one on the nightstand back at the Witwickys.

“Hey yo, man, you’re squeezing to tight!” Miles shoved Samuel in the shoulder with his free hand, enough to jolt the other boy back to his senses.

“Apologies,” Samuel said, letting go and seeming to pull into himself.

“Jeez, Mirror mirror, if you wanted the last one, you could have just said so.” Miles rubbed his arm where Samuel had grabbed it.

“Apologies,” Samuel mumbled.

“Nah, it’s all good. Alien Robot Science’ll fix it.” Miles held up his arm. “Awesome bruise.”

“It’s not Alien . . .” Ratchet huffed. “It’s . . . oh _fine_.” He got up and left the room.

Rhinox rose to his feet. “We should be concerned with the rest of the dream.”

“You’re really taking it seriously?” Lennox asked.

“You’ve never met a Vok,” Rhinox replied.

“You think the Vok of this timeline are behind this?” Primal asked, but he was rubbing his chin.

“Maybe,” Rhinox flipped his hand back and forth. “If they’re like our Vok, then they like to experiment, and they destroy whatever doesn’t work. Maybe they destroyed the wrong thing.” He pulled a whiteboard over to the table. “For the moment, we know that there’s someone or something that wants to help.”

With quick motions across the top of the board he wrote _Allspark Piece, Kids getting along again, Jetfire, Poem, He is coming: 1 year, Sir Edward Burton,_ and _Primal has mail._ Then he drew a circle around _Jetfire_ with a line branching out from it. At the end of that, he wrote _Simmons_ , then drew another line connecting _Jetfire_ to _Poem._ Then on the left of the board, he wrote _Entity X_ and _Multiverse Distillation_ on the right side. At the bottom of the board, he wrote _Vok?_.

“So what’s with the freak-out?” Miles asked Samuel as Lennox, the Autobots and the Maximals began discussing what they knew.

“Remember I told you about the dream I had right before you woke me up?”

“Sure - at least the bits I could make out when Sam wasn’t Jack Nicholson-ing all over the back seat.” Samuel’s expression clearly indicated he was thinking Miles meant something else. “Not that, I mean _The Shining_. ‘All Work and No Play makes Jack a dull boy’? Come on, they parodied it on the Simpsons.”

Samuel looked confused. “Jack Nicholson? The Simpsons?”

Miles huffed. “You . . . oh my god.” He facepalmed. “I have _so_ much work to do.”

———————————

“Slipstream to Thundercracker.”

Thundercracker raised a brow ridge. Slipstream was good - ruthlessly efficient, even - but there was no way she’d finished this soon and she was being uncharacteristically brusque. “Thundercracker here.”

“Come to the _Stalker_ ’s brig. Something you should see.”

“On my way.”

———————————

The _Stalker_ wasn’t a big ship, so the brig was essentially a half deck shoved in towards the stern and directly next to the hull. The ceiling was low and cramped, forcing Thundercracker and Skywarp to duck their heads as they made their way towards the back where Slipstream stood next to a blue and gold mech. Both of them were staring into one of the cells and occasionally glancing at each other.

“Well?” Thundercracker demanded.

“See for yourself,” Slipstream said, stepping aside and gesturing at the cell.

Thundercracker gave her a look, but went and peered inside. There, he saw two mechs, both extremely small, sitting against the back wall. One of them was thin and spindly, the other slightly more bulky, but it was impossible to make out any more details as neither had much in the way of armor or even chassis. What they did have, however, was torn, shredded, and ripped. Blue and red-orange optics, respectively, met his gaze defiantly.

“Okay, so?” Skywarp shrugged. “They’re small and fragged. Big deal.”

“Look closer,” Slipstream urged. “The damage pattern.”

Thundercracker frowned, but then he saw it. “They’re Combiners, and they were joined when they were damaged.”

Slipstream nodded. “Which begs the question . . .”

“Where’s the rest of their gestalt?” Thundercracker finished. “Have they talked?”

“Nope.” The blue and gold mech shrugged. “We were passing through Deltan when we picked up a massive energy burst and found ‘em lying in a crater. Bloodshine wanted to slag ‘em both, but I pointed out that Megatron would probably want to see them first.”

Skywarp snorted. “And he didn’t decide that made you a secret Autobot?”

Blue and Gold shrugged. “Used to know a Sec Chief just as paranoid - maybe more - it’s all in how you talk to them. Anyways, they’re made of some weird alloys and there’s organics on the armor. If I had to guess, they’re a Nebulon experiment gone wrong.”

Slipstream nodded. “Deltan is fairly close Nebulon space. Given the damage, maybe the rest of their gestalt was destroyed in an escape attempt.”

“ _O_ r are hot on their tail, _o_ r the Nebulons want them back or dead.” Thundercracker mused.

“Or both,” Slipstream pointed out. “And if either or both go to the Autobots for help, we’re in big trouble.”

That was true enough. A Nebulon on their own posed little or no threat. The problem was, Nebulons traveled in packs and if they had figured out Combiner technology . . .

“We’ll keep them as bargaining chips.” Thundercracker decided.

“You mean hostages?”

“Potato, potatoe - slag, I’ve been on this planet too long.” Thundercracker rubbed his hand over his face -another human gesture, damnit! He needed to stop watching human TV before all he could talk in _was_ TV and Primus only knew how _that_ would look. He looked at Blue and Gold. “Got a name?”

“Counterpunch.”

“You a Decepticon?” Thundercracker asked, looking him over for a symbol.

“Depends. Is Lugnut allowed to recruit mechs at gunpoint?”

“Lugnut can barely tie his own shoelaces,” Skywarp snorted, proving that he too, watched way too much human tv.

“That’s a no,” Thundercracker translated.

“Didn’t think so,” Counterpunch shrugged. “I’m a merc. Sabotage, smuggling, stuff like that. Though I am looking for work, so . . .”

“Then you’re hired,” Thundercracker replied. “We don’t have creds, but we can keep energon in your tank.”

“Better deal than I’ve had in the past. Would I have to slag anyone?”

“Did you want to?”

“I’m not exactly partial to it.”

“That’s a funny attitude for a merc,” Skywarp pointed out.

“Said I wasn’t partial,” Counterpunch smiled unpleasantly. “Didn’t say I wasn’t willing.”

Slipstream let out a bark of laughter. “He’s competent, at least,” she said to Thundercracker. “After Lugnut and Blitzwing slagged Bloodshine, he got the _Stalker_ underway again and kept the crew reined in.” Her expression turned sardonic. “Lugnut, meanwhile, spent the rest of the trip on the bridge waving that . . . _weapon_ of his around and either ranting about how Counterpunch would know the glory of serving Megatron or yelling that the ship needed to go faster so that he could serve Megatron sooner.”

“Mech’s got issues,” Counterpunch observed.

“Speaking of which,” Thundercracker muttered and walked to another cell. Lugnut lay within, the glow of his optic showing that his repair nanites had fixed the damage Thundercracker had done to it.

“Kill me,” Lugnut snarled, “I’ll never serve you.”

“I don’t want service,” Thundercracker replied.

“Lies! You seek to lead the Decepticons and replace Lord Megatron!”

Thundercracker laughed derisively. “Hardly. Starscream is off doing Primus knows what, and no one has seen Shockwave in centuries. I don’t _want_ to do this, Lugnut, but I will go to the Pit before I see us fall apart.”

“And what of Lord Megatron?”

“If he comes back, I’ll be happy to step down. But until then, I will do whatever it takes to keep us strong.”

Lugnut considered this and then got to his feet. “Then I will follow you. For the Decepticons and the glory of our Master.” 

Thundercracker nodded and opened the cell door. With Lugnut, that was probably the best he’d get. “Slipstream is my second in command. You’re her combat bodyguard. Any questions?” Lugnut shook his head. “Good. Go find Thrust and help him with the Vehicons.”

“Since when am I second in command?” Slipstream asked when Lugnut had left the brig.

“Are you complaining?”

“No.”

“Then congratulations. Counterpunch, you ground or air?”

“Oh ground, definitely.” Counterpunch replied.

“Good. Go see Sunstorm; she’s the orange and white Seeker. Tell her to assign you a couple of ground Vehicons and then go see Gripwrench and get checked out for combat.”

“You know,” Slipstream said, voice dripping with acid, “it’s generally a good idea to include your second in command in the planning process.”

Thundercracker looked back over her shoulder. The two small mechs were now next to the cell door, watching. “Yeah, but not here.”

—————————————

General Clayton Abernathy fit the archetype of Old Soldier to a T, from his close cropped, iron-grey hair, to his wrinkles and the wedge of his jaw. Intense dark eyes and a beaklike nose demonstrated why he was known as “The Hawk”.

“Major.” Even on a video screen, Abernathy had presence, presence bolstered by his voice, worn to a rasp by years of command. “Perhaps you could clear up a mystery for me.”

“Sir?”

“I have two reports here. One, a perfectly standard report of recent events at your command. The other is a pile of hocus-pocus metaphysical mumbo-jumbo!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That is not an explanation, _Major._ ”

“No, Sir.” Lennox took a deep breath. “The ordinary report is for files and records. The other one . . . is more complete.”

Abernathy let out a snort that all but radiated contempt. “Lennox, your ‘more complete’ report reads like a bad episode of Star Trek. So perhaps you could explain exactly why I shouldn’t hand you over to the psych boys and girls for an evaluation.”

“Sir, let me first point out that we are in currently unknown territory and I noted as such in the report. Second, we are still attempting to gather information. It sounds absurd, but it does fit the facts as we know them.”

“The remanding form is five pages long, Lenox.”

“Samuel Witwicky or ‘Red Sam’ is from a parallel timeline. This was confirmed by Optimus Prime using the Matrix Red Sam brought with him. Secondly, the Maximals are from a parallel timeline where Cybertronians freely interact with humans, and Ratchet has confirmed their bodies are made of advanced alloys and techno-organic components. I’m not convinced of the time-travel part of their story, but their behavior and the way they interact with base personnel is consistent and I have observed nothing to indicate it’s an act. It stands to reason that something would have to occur to bring them here and for lack of a better theory, a multiversal distillation is all we have.”

“Five. Pages.”

“Sir, Red Sam knew things he could not have known. I’d be tempted to dismiss his dream if it wasn’t for the fact that Ratchet insists there was no way for him to know about the mech called Flora. More to the point, Optimus Prime has confirmed that a being such as Entity X is not only possible, but even likely.”

“An all seeing cosmic entity who likes to irritate Agent Simmons’?” Abernathy’s tone was flat and disbelieving.

Lennox shrugged. “To be honest, after working with Agent Simmons over the past year, I find that that’s the most believable part.”

“You still haven’t given me a reason not to fill out this form, Lennox.”

“General, I admit that the report is absurd, but this is an absurd situation and we don’t have nearly enough intel to er . . . de-absurd it.” Lennox lifted his hands in a helpless shrug. “It’s obvious that we’re in a rabbit hole, can’t get out, may as well see how deep it is.”

Abernathy considered this and nodded. “All right, Lennox, no form. And as for going down rabbit holes, next time I’m out there, remind me to tell you about a place called Cobra-La over a bottle of scotch.”

“I look forward to it, Sir,” Lennox replied, making a note to buy a bottle or two of scotch.

“Now, the SAS is pulling out of NEST, at least in terms of soldiers. They will still be providing funding and intelligence, but the only boots on the ground will be ours and the Autobots.”

Lennox frowned. “Sir, Senator—“

Abernathy raised a hand, and Lennox fell silent. “Let me worry about Senator Stern. Now, I’ve managed to pry loose a fresh batch of graduates from Marine Spec Ops and they’ll be arriving in two weeks, along with some of the equipment you’ve requested. The Marine CO, Captain Fairborn, will be flying into Vegas two days from now so that the two of you can get set up and in sync as Fairborn will be NEST 2IC.”

“Yes, Sir. Be good to have some new faces around here.” It wasn’t exactly an unofficial lie, but at the same time, mixed service units weren’t exactly common.

“I’m sure it would. Now, there is one more thing to discuss regarding Sargent Epps.”

Lennox stiffened. Robert Epps was more than a trusted subordinate, he was a friend. “Sir, Epps has been essential in keeping NEST going. Both in terms of technical matters, and as a field leader.”

“Yes, I’m well aware. And that’s why we need to have this discussion.”

——————————

In terms of size, Thundercracker’s workspace in the main hanger might have been better described as a storage space for a small jet and they needed every square inch. In addition to himself and Skywarp, Slipstream, Counterpunch, Sunstorm, the Vehicon CO Nightbird, Lugnut, Blitzwing, Gripwrench, Arachnae, Sidewinder, and the holomatter avatar for Demolisher were also gathered around the worktable. A poor complement of officers, but it would have to do.

A flip of the switch, and a holographic two dimensional map of the planet formed on the workbench’s surface.

“All right,” Thundercracker said, “Let’s start with the basics. The locals call this system Sol, the planet is Earth. No central government, but instead more than a hundred nation states divided mostly along along ideological lines. Locals are humans; fully organic bipeds who’ve just barely managed to harness the atom.”

“Xenoanthropology?” Arachnae asked. “You don’t seem the type.”

“I needed a hobby,” Thundercracker deadpanned. “Now, the Autobots are here to the southeast. across this ocean, the Pacific. They’ve allied themselves with the military of the nation state of America, and they’re hunting _us_. We are here, in the nation state of Russia, formerly the Soviet Union, and they’ve got a history with America. In the two years we’ve been here, they haven’t come looking for us, and we’ve tried not to give them a reason but that doesn’t mean they don’t know we’re here.”

“Does it matter, Sir?” Blitzwing asked. “As you’re said, they’re primitive, and no threat.”

“Yeah, it does and they are,” Gripwrench spoke up. He took out a cartridge. “The humans call this a Sabot Round and something about its electrochemical composition punches right through our shields and armor.” He handed it to Sunstorm to be passed around. “Don’t ask me how, I ain’t an engineer or a metallurgist.”

“In other words,” Thundercracker added, “one soldier is a threat, and a group of them can kill us. They absolutely need to be taken seriously, is that understood?” There was a chorus of acknowledgement and Thundercracker nodded, and changed the hologram.

The image was now that of a crystal pyramid encased in some sort of metal sculpture. Faint runes were etched into the crystal’s surface.

“Archeologists recently unearthed this in a region called the Patagonian Desert on the South American Continent.” A touch of the button and the image expanded. “Take a look at the crystal. That writing is Cybertronian, more specifically, Iacan Lorekeeper.”

“What would a Lorekeeper Archive be doing here on Earth?” Arachnae wondered.

“That’s what I want to know,” Thundercracker said. “Which is part of why we’re going to steal it.”

“And the rest?” Arachnae asked, leaning closer to Thundercracker, “is this why you’ve been cataloging this base? What _are_ you up to?”

Thundercracker ignored her. “For an archive to be here, that means Cybertronians have been here - they might still be here. I want to know who, and why.”

“Ah, Arachnae has a point, Air Major,” Blitzwing ventured. “While the implications of the archive are curious, we have yet to hear anything about taking this planet and dealing with the Autobots. What of avenging Megatron’s murder?” He slammed one fist down on the table. “How are you going to kill Optimus Prime and the humans?”

“We’re not going to kill the humans or Optimus Prime,” Thundercracker replied.

“What?” Blitzwing lunged over the table, but Thundercracker grabbed him by the crest on his head and slammed him face first into the table, directly into the middle of the projection, which readjusted itself to follow the counters of Blitzwing’s head and Thundercracker’s hand. It might have been comical in other circumstances, but right now, politics took priority.

“You are useful,” Thundercracker informed him, holding his head against the metal surface. “But not indispensable.” He cast his gaze around the room. “While I’m a reasonable mech, I’m also the second highest ranking Seeker in the entire Armada and Fourth in command overall. Most of you don’t know me, so I’ve been patient , but the next one to raise their hand against me will have their limbs torn off and then I will drag their torso out in front of the others where I will rip open their spark chamber and let it expire.” He pushed down on Blitzwing’s head, feeling the armor beginning to dent as he met each mech’s optics. “I’m not Megatron. I will never give an order without reason and I will never order you to do something I wouldn’t do myself.” He pushed down on Blitzwing’s head even more and heard the sounds of plating buckle and circuits crack and spark. “At the same time, _when I do give an order, you_ ** _will_** _obey it._ ” There was a slight shuffle as every mech save Skywarp, Slipstream and Sunstorm took half a step back from the table. It was only then that Thundercracker released Blitzwing, who gave him a fearful look and then backed away from the table as well.

“Now, that we’ve settled that,” Thundercracker said, calling up a map, “if we kill Optimus Prime, the Matrix he carries will simply move on to some other mech. So instead, we’re going to _hurt_ him, which brings us back to the archive. The archive is due to be shipped to the city of Shanghai in China. There it will have be cleared by customs before it’s moved to the University of Beijing. Sidewinder, you, Demolisher, Arachnae and Counterpunch will each take two Vehicons and head to Shanghai. No attacks, but once in China, let yourselves be seen.”

“China and America are arch-rivals,” Slipstream spoke up. Besides second in command, Thundercracker had made her the intelligence officer. “As such, their espionage services are hyper focused on each other, so the moment we show ourselves, diplomatic and intelligence channels should light up like a supernova in a planetary nebula. The goal is to get China to ask the Americans to get involved, bringing the Autobots with them.”

“Once they’re here, Sidewinder, you, Demolisher, and the Vehicons will tear up the Shanghai port district. If you happen to kill any Autobots, fine, but your goal is to distract and force them to spread out and chase you. Counterpunch, meanwhile, will steal the Archive. As soon as you have it, everyone goes to the extraction point, where Skywarp will teleport you all back here. As for Arachnae, the Americans will set up a command base in the port district. You have the best sensors so spy on it. Specifically, I want intel on the Autobot medic Ratchet. Appearance, alt mode, weapons if he takes the field. Get data on any humans as well, but don’t take unnecessary risks. The priority is is getting a solid ID on Ratchet and returning, everything else is a bonus.”

Counterpunch was peering intently at the hologram of the Archive again. “Sir, a question.”

“Yeah?” 

“What if the archive is worthless? A history book on the Bananian Federation, or something like that.”

Thundercracker hid a grin. The Bananians had a reputation for being the most boring civilization Cybertron had ever encountered. Rumor had it that reading one line of Bananian poetry would trigger stasis lock. “Then I get a desk ornament and you all get an extra ration of energon.”

“Then I have just one last question.” Counterpunch gave that same unpleasant smile he’d given to Skywarp earlier. “When do we leave?”

——————————

Author’s Notes:

Rattrap is referencing the movie Real Genius.

Lennox’s trip to buy scotch was not helped by Ironhide, who went to every drink site on the web and found the best scotch in existence. However, the nearest store that sold it was in the small town of Salton on the shore of the Salton Sea in California. While Lennox got the scotch for free, the Salton Sea is now the Salton Lakes and avocados are banned within the city limits.


End file.
